Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The diamond reflected the sunlight, so bright it was impossible to look at. Tension rose within Harry as he was pulled between looking away from a painful sight and indulging in his favourite past time of admiring his best friend.

Jewellery has always looked good on Louis. As the skies were blue and the sugar sweet, Louis was the most beautiful person he had ever gotten to meet. Once upon another life, they had Salome, whose beauty could push a king to obey her and cut another man’s head off. In Harry’s life, he had Louis, who held both his severed head and heart on a golden platter. If she had been clothed only with the most lavish of clothes and jewellery, Louis hadn’t needed as much to get Harry under his clutch. Harry’s cheeks had been set aflame when Louis’ 16-year-old defiance had led him to getting a belly piercing; his heart had raced when a UNI crossdressing Halloween party had his cross necklace lying between Louis’ bralette-covered chest; his breath had shortened at Louis’ 21st birthday with his hands in the boy’s coronated hair and his eyes full of the biggest, most kissable smile on the planet.

And now, his heart clenched and his jaw locked as he stared at a ring he wouldn’t have picked sitting on the left hand of the boy he would choose, over and over and over again, yet didn’t choose him.

“That is a nice gift,” Harry finally said before moving Louis’ hand away from their place hovering over his scrambled eggs on avocado toast. Louis was doubly offended, to be ignored in favour of avocadoes of all things, but Harry was nothing if not used to his antics. He was also a tragically bad liar and even that sentence has been hard to mutter.

It wasn’t necessarily untrue. Harry had seen enough engagement rings to know that this one must have cost more than four months of his rent – pink Australian diamonds of this calibre weren’t necessarily the easiest find. He also knew Louis, to whom ostentation was uncomfortable more than desirable, and who had disliked diamonds on principle – ‘overhyped’ and ‘covered with blood’ were his usual words of choice to qualify them.

He also, quite obviously, knew this was not a simple gift. Not with how restless his best friend had been ever since sitting down in front of him, or the telling action of showing off his left hand with pride all over his face. If he were a better man, he would have immediately exclaimed how beautiful the ring was and how happy he was for Louis, asked questions about when the wedding was due and if they had already started planning for it.

He was no good man, however – not with the ugly jealousy festering inside of him and burning his insides. Instead, he was adding hot sauce to his egg and thinking about the ring that should be on Louis as of now. It would have to be discreet, a simple silver band with a meaningful inscription inside of it. Something Louis would want to wear every day, would look at with fondness and play with in times of stress, would let his spouse kiss at night and his children hold onto. It had to be simple but made for him in a way so undeniable that no argument could ever surpass the words of love embedded where his knuckle no longer tanned, grounding him in the safety of their union even through the worst of all the hardships.

The picture within his mind was so vivid because he already owned the ring and had ever since Johanna had given it to him, some three years ago. Grief had settled deep within the creases of her face, yet it was with a smile that she had called upon him to give him the ring her recently deceased father had crafted specifically for Louis. He had first assumed that he was to hold onto it until Louis was in a mental space that allowed him to accept the gift for what it was, but Johanna had been quick to correct his assumptions: though she could not know the future, she was certain there could not be a better husband and mate than Harry for her son.

At the time, it had made his heart soar with happiness at being so readily approved by who he hoped to one day be his mother-in-law; today, it poisoned his lungs with guilt as he was forced to admit that he could not bear to give the ring to another so they could marry Louis as intended by his ancestors.

“Harry, you’re gonna shit fire for a week with the amount of Tabasco on that,” was what finally brought him back to the situation at hand. He looked down and, surely enough, his eggs looked too red to be edible. Louis opened his mouth to ask in a whine “Come on, you know very well that’s not just a gift. Aren’t you going to congratulate your best friend?” and Harry could do nothing except eat the goddamn toast. Its burn on the way down held nothing to the acidic taste of the words he was to speak next.

“Isn’t it a little early?” he asked instead of whatever faux kind words were meant to leave his mouth. Louis’ scent was tinged with slight sourness, and Harry regretted his question as soon as it left his mouth but couldn’t retract it without making a fool of himself. Staying silent meant keeping the image of simply concerned best friend instead of hopeless fool in love, and so did his unbreaking stare at his food.

“We’ve been dating for two years,” Louis countered with a quiet voice, frown replacing the joyful look he’d had before Harry had gone and opened his mouth. “You have planned weddings for people who had known each other for a lot less time.”

Well, they weren’t the person I love. “Well, they weren’t my best friend.” He sighed and set the cutlery down, engulfing Louis’ right hand in both of his. Automatically, Louis gripped his wrist, just as he had always done and hopefully always would. Harry spoke again through his clenched heart. “I am very happy for you, Louis. I just worry, that’s my job-”

“No, it’s not.”

“-as your best friend.” He tightened his hold on Louis for a second, making sure his focus was entirely on him before he carried on, honest for the first time in months – years, maybe. “Your happiness is all that matters to me, and I just need to make sure this is what you want genuinely at heart, what you believe is best for you.”

It was no secret Louis was a little on the older side compared to most unmated omegas. Though there was no written rule that said any 25-year-old omega had to be mated or on their way to, it was still expected by society that Louis would have a nursery ready from where he was sitting at 26.

Harry hadn’t ever much cared for those expectations. His line of work meant he saw exactly what a wedding at an early age could do to those who were unprepared and immature, only bending down to fulfil their family’s wishes or avoid being ostracised in the work place. It was easy for him, however, to hold such opinions when his celibacy wasn’t seen as a moral failing quite so easily, and when he wasn’t put under scrutiny to see what could possibly be so defective that he had no mate hanging off his arm. He knew for a fact Louis shared his thoughts, but he also knew what every Tomlinson family reunion looked like, side-eyes and dismissals of his career achievements and offers to go on a date with one’s nephew or another’s neighbour.

So, overall, his comment expressed a very real concern. Louis was anything but a quitter, and he feared that mating out of propriety would find him stuck in an unsatisfying marriage. It would be even worse if they decided to bond as well, which would be the traditional route, though Harry suspected Louis’ feelings on that specific subject hadn’t changed. He was too scared to ask anyway, and so kept silent as Louis swallowed and looked down at their joined hands.

When he looked up, he was back to his self-assured self, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. “He makes me happy – you’ve seen it. And, I haven’t really thought about it, but when he asked… I immediately said yes, with no hesitation.” That might have been the sound of Harry’s heart cracking, but he kept up appearances while Louis sighed dreamily. “Thank you for looking out for me, Harry, but you know Ash. He’s a good man.”

“He is,” Harry agreed with a nod, and he was sincere.

Because that was a whole other, completely separate issue. If Harry was in this exact situation as of now, it was entirely because of him, as the person who made Ashton and Louis meet in the first place – though Harry liked to blame Niall Horan, because that was a little easier to bear when his hands nursed a glass of whisky.

For his third wedding, Niall had decided on an up-and-coming pop rock band, as one does. Harry, who had already been in charge of the planning for his precedent wedding, hadn’t been too surprised by the request. He had known Niall was a bit of a peculiar being from their very first meeting, where he had shaken Harry’s hand and told him “My last wedding was absolutely beautiful, so you have quite the pressure on your shoulders. But, as long as you don’t run off with my wife at the altar, I should like you better than my last wedding planner.” Harry hadn’t, which seemed to be enough for the groom to take a strong liking to him and eventually call upon him for his third wedding.

“Third time’s the charm,” he had said with a nudge of elbows, and Harry had winced while his spouse laughed heartily. They ended up lasting three months.

Before any sort of downfall however, Niall had a vision. He wanted a ‘cool wedding’, bored with the traditions he had followed with the first two. That had included wanting rock renditions of traditional love songs, and his eyes were set on a newly-imported Australian band that he had gone to see a small concert of, which is where he had met his wife.

It was quite romantic, and though the band known as ‘5 Seconds of Summer’ was quite surprised at the request, they heartily accepted to perform at the wedding night, feeling like it was some sort of full-circle. Though Harry wasn’t used to talking extensively with the wedding band, the peculiar situation had them meeting up a few times to find the best way to align Niall’s desires for a rock sound with Aliyah’s desires for love ballads she could slow dance to. That, combined with their clear talent and determination to make a name for themselves in the music industry as well as their warm personalities that made Harry quite fond of them quite quickly, led Harry to attending a few of their shows and enlisting his sister so she would work on a music video with them.

Niall’s wedding came and went, and 5 Seconds of Summer’s most recent song was slowly but surely getting views and traction, and Harry decided to take Louis to see them. After a tragic emo phase in his teens, Louis had kept his interest for all things punk, rock, and all their offsprings. It only made sense that Harry would want to show his newfound mates to his best friend, especially when he just knew they would both enjoy the experience that much more being together.

What he hadn’t taken into account was the appeal of a sweaty alpha drummer, still tan from his recent trip Australia and shirtless because of the heat of the tight space. As Michael, Luke, Calum and Ashton had joined them to their small table, all of them hugging Harry warmly and shaking Louis’ hand, it had only taken one look at Ashton and Louis to see the mutual interest there.

He had swallowed his hurt and jealousy and celebrated with his friends their music video hitting 100k views on YouTube. Louis wasn’t his to claim, and Ashton was a good, respectful guy, so there was nothing to get protective over.

He looked at the way Louis blushed as Ashton tripped over his feet to get him a new drink, or how they bonded over their sadness at how Fall Out Boy was forced to come back from their break only to progressively make more generic music for the sake of money instead of passion, or how Louis was finding any excuse to grope Ashton’s arms, and tried not to snap or let his true feelings show to the three other boys who were telling him all about how they’d finally gotten a flat for them all to live comfortably in. It was a long evening despite the overall joyous energy and pride he felt for his boys, but Harry reassured himself. Louis and Ashton were young and attractive and had similar interests, they would have a one-night stand, a short fling at most, until life got in the way and their responsibilities and differences in future plans grew too heavy and they went back their separate ways. This whole story would be forgotten in two months max and he would go back to being the curls Louis played with.

Two months later, Louis told Harry with stars in his eyes that Ashton had officialised their relationship as boyfriends. Four months later, they were moving in together.

The rest of the brunch went by, mostly in silence as they were both lost in their thoughts, up until came the time to pay. A game of rocks, paper, scissors designated Harry as the one to put his money forward, and they went outside in the cold, bundled up tightly to escape winter’s biting winds. It hadn’t snowed yet, too early in December, but he still looked up to the white sky as if awaiting the snowflakes to come pouring down.

Louis cleared his throat from besides him, making Harry turn his head with a distracted hum. Covered in a red woollen scarf and dwarfed in a thick coat was when he looked the youngest, cheeks and nose red and his hair eternally bare as he constantly forgot a beanie. Harry pulled the one he had prepared in his pocket and put it on his best friend’s head, making Louis pop his chin up just long enough to send a bright smile Harry’s way. It made his heart that much warmer, and his alpha content in a way he tried to repress.

“You wanna come over later?” Louis asked then, and Harry looked at him with a raised eyebrow, trying to assess the innocence of that question.

When he couldn’t be sure if the flush of Louis’ cheeks was still due to the cold or to the situation, he said “Like…?”

“Yeah,” Louis breathed out. “One for the road, you know? Considering we should probably stop, now that Ashton and I are getting, like, super serious.”

So much for a warm heart and a content alpha.

“Yes, for sure,” he agreed anyway, looking away from Louis’ shy stance and around the street. He suddenly craved a cigarette but contented himself with the puff of white that left his mouth. 

“So,” a pause, “you coming then?”

Harry looked at the empty road with pain in his chest and the feeling of something stuck in his throat. He looked for so long without moving that his eyes watered and Louis reached out to him, putting his hand on his arm. God, what had his life come to.

Harry cleared his throat and nodded. “I’ll be there at 10, that okay with you?”

“That okay with me,” Louis replied and then wrapped his arms around him, soft and small and everything he would never have.

Well, except for tonight. One for the road.

The first time Louis asked, Harry thought he was pulling his leg.

It was six months into his perfect relationship with Ashton, eight months after that fateful night where Harry had taken him to a silly concert and ruined his life all at once. They were sitting on his couch, Ashton busy signing a contract with some big music company that had seen their quick rise to internet fame and decided to take a chance on them. Louis and him didn’t hang out quite as much as before, between Harry who was busy with two big weddings and the usual ups and downs of a young single alpha’s social life, and Louis who was steadily working towards a promotion one acclaimed article after the next as well as in a happy relationship he dedicated most of his time to.

It was why Harry had been so excited for that day together, just being with his best friend and indulging in his fantasy that one day they might be more. Though he really liked and respected Ashton, he still didn’t entirely believe their relationship would last. Something in his gut told him that Louis and him were destined together, so they had to be. The trajectory of their life could not simply be parallel, and as long as it may take, he knew they were to meet at some point in the future.

Then, out of nowhere and just as a new Malcolm in the Middle episode started, Louis asked “D’you know what cuckolding is?”

Harry had choked a little – or a lot, judging by the fact Louis had to hit him on the back a few times – and croaked out “what?”, hoping Louis would either laugh or at least sheepishly pretend he hadn’t just said that.

“Cuckolding. Have you ever heard of it?” Casual, small weather talk, as if he hadn’t just almost killed a man with his bluntness.

And God, they were close, closer than most would comprehend from an alpha and an omega who weren’t mated or courting, but Harry had never thought he would find himself on a random Thursday afternoon being questioned by his best friend about a kink he had only seen a handful of times on the front page of Pornhub.

“Uh, yeah,” he admitted nonetheless, because he was a shit liar and Louis could always see through his bullshit. His track record was perfect except for one subject, though it was so obvious and important Harry ought to count it at least as 5 minus points.

“Well, Ashton is into it,” he said, faux nonchalant as his eyes stayed focused on the TV and his cheeks and ears turned red.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They both looked at the television in silence for the entirety of the episode. It could have been normal if it weren’t for the clear tension between them as Harry tried to understand and picture it. Did Louis say it in the sense that Ashton liked to fuck other people while Louis was watching, or liked to watch Louis fuck other people while he was watching? And how far did it go? Was he ever included? Humiliated? Had it happened often?

God, had Louis gotten fucked by the entirety of 5 Seconds of Summer before Harry had so much as kissed him?

The alpha was none too happy with the images in his brain, but tried to repress it the best he could so his scent wouldn’t be affected. They were inescapable, growing and twirling like shadows on the walls of his mind born from the fire of his emotions. A vicious circle he couldn’t escape without drawing attention to himself, sinking further and further until Louis spoke again.

“He would like to try it out.”

Oh. So, it hadn’t happened yet. Harry visibly deflated and ignored the heavy look from Louis at the movement.

“And, would you?” he turned towards him. Though the discussion hurt him as a lovesick puppy, he could see in Louis’ eyes that he was currently needed as a best friend and tried his best to do his part.

“I think so,” Louis said, or maybe asked if the tilt of his voice was of any indication. It wasn’t great, but that was how most things started. Harry was about to explain that they should discuss it more before making any decision and that he should take his time to think things through and their implication, when Louis cut him short. “Wouldn’t do it with anyone but you though.”

Harry’s mouth gaped open for a few seconds. The short-circuit of his brain must have been visible all over his face, as Louis scooted closer and started explaining himself, with flushed cheeks and shifty eyes and wild hand movements and a nose he scratched every few seconds.

“Like, Ashton isn’t too picky as long as he finds the person hot, and he finds you hot – and so do I. Plus, you’re probably the person I trust most on this whole planet, and I don’t really want to do it with someone I hardly know or I don’t feel 100% comfortable with? And, I mean, you look like you could probably be a good fuck, a great one even, so I think it could be, erm, a nice experience. With you. Because you’re my hot alpha best friend that once made a girl scream so loud, we heard her from down the hall.”

Flattery was always a good way of gaining Harry’s agreement, though Louis rarely indulged in it. Harry was nothing if not wrapped around his fingers, which tended to make him prone to going with whatever the omega was offering. However, this was a very particular situation, and the biting of his lips as well as the anxious up-and-down movements of his left leg were clear signs Louis was well aware of it.

Prompt agreement almost tumbled out of his lips, pushed forward by the most primitive part of himself. The restraints of his reason and remains of self-preservation stopped him, assessing the proposition with all its implication. While it might have held the only chance for Harry to be intimate with Louis, he was unsure intimacy in such terms could be called as such. Was sex in front of an audience a line he was ready to cross for the foolish hope that, once Louis caged underneath him and taken care of as Harry had always believed he should be, his eyes would open to the wonders Harry would put forward in his name?

It begged reflection, especially with such high risks of complete and utter failure. If it was to be a one-time thing, Louis would have Ashton to rely back on – but Harry only had himself, nursing a broken heart and wounded ego for the price of the bittersweet taste of slick on his lips and memories that would have to last him a lifetime. Him getting a taste of the omega and being satiated for the rest of eternity was an outcome he did not dare consider, as he knew himself and the true nature of his feelings. While lust could only be suffered when faced with a creature so astounding as one Louis Tomlinson, its searing hold on some of Harry’s organs was of no comparison to the tender cradle on his heart.

His feelings had undergone too many changes and hardships for Harry to believe them anything but sincere. While activities between the sheets had been known to be deterrents to those of the heart, when one’s carnal desires was confused with more profound afflictions, there was no hope that Harry belonged in that category. Nursed for years and fed through constant exposition to the object of his affection, this love had reached full completion and was as much a part of him as Louis was a staple in his life. No matter how hard or slow he may fuck Louis, neither his alpha nor himself would be at peace until he sank his teeth into his neck and bonded them, of that, he was sure.

His pondering was long. Two sides of himself fought violently, both with good reasons. There was the anxiety of what the future held depending on each choice offered to him, and there was the certainty of Louis. Louis, who had taken to cleaning the living room table through Harry’s long pondering, who looked so nice as he opened each cabinet as his own and treated the space as his. Louis, who had to mess the fragile balance of their friendship, where Harry was content acting as the perfect best friend for as long as no possibility of more was dangled before his nose.

Louis, who was suddenly sitting extremely close to him, hand squeezing Harry’s inner thigh, somewhere above his right knee. Where Harry thought flattery had been the extent to which Louis would go to in order for Harry to give in, his guards had lowered and his constantly spread legs would bring him to his demise. Though the touch was nothing intrinsically spectacular, his pale blue gaze had a powerful quality to it when it came from below his lashes, soft with an enticing edge. Harry gulped; Louis leaned closer.

“I could be your pretty girl for a night,” Louis murmured, only a few words that were enough to blur Harry’s vision around the edges, focus only on the siren in front of him whose voice still had lures to sing. “The one you stole from another alpha who could not properly satisfy her, and you just had to teach him a lesson, didn’t you? Any good alpha would, after all.”

And there lied the problem in being in love with one’s decade-long best friend: if there existed one being who knew all the ways to make him tic, it had to be Louis – it was simply unfair he also had to be the one person who rendered Harry powerless just by existing within his vicinity. The Salome he would kill a man for and present his severed head to, even if that man was himself.

“Tell me to stop, Harry, and this subject will be kept quiet forever.” He shifted, his entire body pressing against Harry’s side, and the movement revealed the early scents of slick. Louis grabbed Harry’s chin when he turned around to resist the temptations of that smell, forcing strong eye contact again. His pupils darkened in a perfect match to Harry’s, yet he continued with no falter. “Otherwise, I am inviting you to fulfill your fantasy of showing a delicate omega and his useless alpha how to properly wreck a pussy and make a drooling bitch out of a proud wolf.”

Harry didn’t tell him to stop.

The very first time had been a tad bit awkward. He wasn’t used to having an audience and had always been firmly against cheating – but Ashton had greeted him with a warm smile and the confirmation he was more than on board with this. If he hadn’t said it, his flushed cheeks and obvious erection as he watched Louis get on his knees in front of Harry and take him in his mouth would have been enough reassurance. Harry had not paid much attention to him from that point forward nonetheless, too entranced with the skilled tongue dragging across his most sensitive vein.

Though it could not be qualified as a regular occurrence, their encounters did not stop that first time. Their recurrence, however limited - by Harry’s last standing resolve to self-protection – were enough for there to be no more awkward instances. There had been trials and errors, including rather unfortunate ones that had made it impossible for Louis to meet Harry’s gaze for three weeks following, but their dance was now well-choregraphed and each person’s limits known perfectly well. No step out of place, but still, Harry held the reigns and controlled the pace every single time.

Nature could not be fought so easily, and conflict had arisen at the very beginning when Ashton puffed his chest and tried to remind of his position as Louis’ alpha. Where Harry ought to respect it and made a point to, the bedroom held different rules, ones that had been carefully picked by Harry. He was the dominant one between the three of them, the one they were to obey and please however he saw fit. His confidence may have waivered if he had not always been an expert at profiling his partners’ sexual preferences.

Ashton, despite his easy assertion and unhidden pride in his achievements, got hard for a bit of humiliation. On their third encounter, Harry had decided to indulge in a long-repressed fantasy and tie Louis’ hand to his lower back so he may manipulate him freely while his tongue lapped up all his slick. There, Ashton had spoken up from his corner of the room, where he had sat silently and without touching himself despite his clear arousal, claiming Harry could not rim Louis when Ashton himself had never been allowed to.

Harry had ignored him in favour of asking Louis whether he was okay with the arrangement. At the pliant omega’s agreement, Ashton had raised his voice thoughtlessly, vexed in his boyfriend privileges.

“Shut up,” Harry had growled out, alpha seeping out following Louis’ distressed whimper. “You are not his boyfriend nor his owner, just a pathetic bitch in heat who will watch as I show you just why Louis wants me to rim him and not you. Now, sit.”

Ashton had sat directly onto the floor, turned obedient by the smallest display of dominance. Harry had held eye contact with him while making Louis come with just his tongue, spitting on the omega’s rim who cried out his name unabashedly before slipping inside as if he owned him. Because he did, in those rare instances where they were both caught under his spell, he could pretend Louis was entirely his and there was no ending in sight, no moment where he would slip out of Harry’s arms to cuddle Ashton and clean each other up tenderly.

As of Louis, what he needed was attention. He could drive himself crazy seeking it at his most vulnerable and could come just from having two sets of eyes staring at him without restraint. Also, and despite his best attempts at hiding behind the pretence it was him indulging in one of Harry’s kinks, he was far from opposed to a bit of feminisation and lot of manhandling. Which was exactly what he was planning on indulging in for their very last encounter

“Pretty pussy, all wet for me,” he commented and spat to punctuate it, adding to the mess of silk and saliva he was staring at. It dripped down on the bed and Harry took pleasure in staining the sheets further by rubbing his finger up and down, treating it just like a cunt and revelling in the squelching sounds it made.

Louis whined and pulled him out of his play, thrashing until Harry leaned forward to pull on his hair and arch his back, making them sit back to chest. It must have been painful, but Louis only vibrated as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Harry had been intense from the get go, pinning him to the kitchen counter as soon as he came in without even acknowledging Ashton. He didn’t mind, turned on by being ignored and forced to accept what was happening, so Harry didn’t bother hiding he only cared for the omega he would be taking apart for the next few hours.

Somewhere on his right, Harry could hear the wet slides of Ashton’s hand over his dick, low groans sometimes escaping him. It was far away in the back of his mind however, all of his attention focused on the pretty omega that was squirming underneath him, begging for an attention he did not deserve.

“Please, Harry,” Louis whined, voice shaking in rhythm with the tremors of his body.

The perfect slot of his hand over Louis’ throat was one to write poems about. His little intake of breath, habit from all the times Harry’s grip would tighten until he felt lightheaded, was enough temptation to give into it a little. Not enough to actually cut his breathing, just enough for Louis’ mouth to open until drool hit Harry’s hand. There was no other need for a warning, a good boy that would not dare disobey any further.

He had been teasing him for hours, so long he was feeling the effects, ready to burst out of his skin so he may reach Louis sooner. His hand reached down to his cock, slapping it on Louis’ hole and coating it with the slick there. The head slipped out from between Louis’ reddened cheeks on an upwards motion and Harry finally gave in. With a snap of his hips, he breached Louis’ gaping hole and slid all the way inside.

This had never changed through the year: the very first moment he entered Louis, his teeth ached with the need to claim. Had he possessed less respect for the omega, he would have given in to his desires and bit down right on his bonding spot, the one that seemed to smell so much more potent then, luring him in. His own restraint turned to violence he let out in whichever way he could. Primarily, he bit down on Louis’ shoulder and took hold of his hip to pull him backwards onto him. The slap of their skin was loud through the brutal pacing he immediately set, hoping beyond all hope this time it would be enough.

It was not, and the scent was so strong, ripe cherries with a tinge of cream, taste just like Louis was. His slick still painted the roof of Harry’s mouth, the key to feelings he would never get to experience again, a drug he would never get enough of. All of Louis was sweet and delicious, from his loud slutty moans as Harry pounded into him to the weight of his balls as the alpha cupped them punishingly. Harry loved to taste him, licked his come, his slick, his tears, his sweat, all Louis had let him experience.

He loved it, loved him like he knew he never would again, and all he had to show for it was the hard drive of his dick inside of him, something he was losing after today.

“Deep, deep, please.” Louis’ babbles were nonsensical, comments or pleas, words dripping out of his control.

“Shh,” Harry soothed nonetheless, pounding even harder if it was possible because he was nothing but wrapped around the pretty little omega’s fingers.

Lust and frustration were dangerously mixing together inside of his head. His alpha roared as it was tamped down again, wild with desire that dabbled into need – need to mate, need to hold Louis as his own, need to be the only one to ever see the tears roll down his cheeks as he begged for more. He licked over the mark when growls began rising up his throat and laid them both back down, only slightly relenting in his pace. Louis, whose body was that of a ragdoll each time he passed two orgasms, made a protesting noise in the back of his throat at being let down on the bed. Harry felt the vibrations on his hand and kissed his temple, wanted his lips all over the boy for the rest of their lives. God, he truly was the sweetest little thing, so perfect he was torn between adoring and destroying him.

Thankfully, he had mastered the arts of combining both. He lavished him with more kisses as he slid his hand up his jaw and on his lips, letting him suck on his fingers while his lips mapped a path up his neck. All movements except those had ceased, Harry wanting to settle into their most tender moment for a minute. His digits slid up and down Louis’ tongue, choking him on them as if it were a cock on every upward motion. The omega loved it, always wanting all of his holes to be filled, always mouth readily open for Harry’s dick to slide into and use for a little bit. It made him shiver, knowing he could render Louis into nothing more than a dumb little fuckdoll, head empty except for the desires to be used for someone else’s pleasure.

It brought bad thoughts to the forefront again – the fact he would no longer be his to use and please, going back to being his best friend who he was not supposed to know the exact emplacement of his prostate of.

His index finger crooked and pulled, fish hooking Louis until he was looking directly at Ashton – would be, at least, if his eyes weren’t full of tears and glassy. All because of Harry.

“Who’s making you drool like a dumb little doll?” he asked nonetheless, adding a sharp thrust at the end.

“You a’e, Ha’y,” Louis replied with difficulty, yet with no complaint whatsoever as his tongue reached out to lick over the ridges of Harry’s finger.

He flipped him over as a reward, quickly pushing his dick inside again. The new position meant he hit Louis prostate directly, mewls escaping him while Harry hissed at the tight clench of his hole. He looked holy, mussed up fringe like a halo around his head, eyes wide and cheeks rosy.

Harry gripped his jaw and leaned so close it might have been a kiss. “Say it to your alpha,” and Harry always worded it just that much unclear, because there, in this fragile space where there existed no boundaries between truth and reality, Louis always turned a bit more towards him when he would breathe out “fucking me so good, alpha.”

Those little manipulations he indulged in were not something to be proud of, yet he still flashed a delighted smile at Louis who replied with a weak one of his own. His eyelids were dropping and his dick was red where it laid on his come-covered stomach. Petite, just like the rest of him, everything small and precious even if he took up all the space in Harry’s heart.

Loving him was always hard, but loving him then was breathtaking, a lens that allowed him to catalogue all the beauty marks on his chest and the part of his body that first shook when his orgasm was near – his knees, always, giving out when Harry would fuck him pinned to the wall and tightening when he would have wrapped his legs around him. Harry touched them then, bringing them up with care in his touch, holding them to his chest. It made him even smaller then, knees to his chest, hands automatically coming over Harry’s bigger ones, gripping two fingers. It seemed almost impossible that all of Harry fit in him, the angle so good at showing how stretched he was over his girth, pink and wet and wrecked.

Something passed through their gaze that looked a lot like the end, a comet with a trail of finality. Harry ignored it and pretended this was the beginning, their honeymoon and first of many more rowdy nights. He pretended and it bled out of his lungs, filling his mouth with bittersweetness, the gentle hold of the man he loved and the wedding band on his finger that tied him to someone who wasn’t Harry, until it dripped out of him and tainted Louis. Pure, gentle Louis, who did not know of the anguish flooding his system, who only laid there and believed Harry’s pause to be one made for pleasure and not derived from pain.

Harry pressed forward with his whole body, lips close to Louis’ and dick as deep as it could be inside. His knot was starting to form against the inside of his hole, begging to be left to grow and tie them together, and this was breaking all the rules they had forced for themselves. The two dreaded K’s – no knotting, no kissing.

Louis licked his lips slowly, just like he always did when Harry looked at him too long, alluring in this little telltale of anxiety. Harry followed his example, the tip of his tongue touching the top of Louis’ lips, filling his lungs with that little gasp of Louis’.

He would always want so much more, it might as well end now. The last of his dignity was something he held onto tightly as he lifted himself back up. He pushed away the little strands of hair that were stuck to Louis’ forehead and traced down the shape of his nose until his thumb landed between his slightly parted lips. His teeth left little resistance as Harry pushed, but he only lingered, appreciating the heat and the softness of the one taste he had been deprived of, before bringing his thumb to his own mouth while staring directly into his other half’s soul.

There, he picked up his pace once again, forcing his knot out before it would go too far and focusing on bringing Louis to his peak. The omega’s head fell back, so trusting as he bared his neck, so beautiful as he cried out once again and called for Harry and alpha in the same breath, no distinction, only need. Harry did not lose himself to the pleasure until Louis’ had passed, just to witness one last time the way Louis’ eyes pop open as his dick spurts all it has left and he finally feels completely sated.  Then, he filled the condom as he lifted Louis’ left leg and bit his ankle, pretending it could ever be enough.

Aftercare was one of the things that toed a dangerous line in their arrangement. While Harry would argue it was an inherent part of a sexual encounter, as he would never dare give his partner anything less than thorough aftercare, it was also intimate in a way that clearly irked Ashton, if only in his alpha needs. Truly, having to stare once more as Harry brought Louis down with his scent then fed and hydrated him with a care that could never be passed as platonic was indeed a lot for anyone to bear. Harry may understand it, but bile was not easier to swallow the fifth time it rose up one’s throat.

They had come to a silent agreement of allowing Harry to stay but leaving most of the aftercare to Ashton. Silent agreement really meant that Harry had shut up the first time Ashton had jumped to his feet as soon as Louis had come and carried him to the bathroom, where he proceeded to clean him of Harry’s minimal claim and reaffirm his position as Louis’ alpha. He could not be faulted for indulging in his biology, one that called for him to not lose his bond with his omega to another alpha, and he was still an amiable host who lent his shower to Harry afterwards and made them all snacks to munch on. Once, when Harry had been particularly on edge for he was close to his rut, he had even invited him to sleep with them for the night and not brave the next few days feeling so tense. Shamefully, Harry had accepted.

As it stood, Harry’s hands shook as he ate a banana in the silence of the kitchen. Their flat was a perfect mix of homely and modern and it made him sick each time he had to acknowledge how genuinely perfect it was. Everything about Ashton was perfect, down to the way he treated Louis with an affection that could match Harry’s, though he had freedom where Harry had pining. Their laughter floated through the open bathroom there and into the open kitchen, and Harry missed the silence that rang loud in his ears.

“Would you like to use to bathroom?” Ashton said from the end of the corridor. When Harry turned to him, he was carrying a sleepy Louis on his hip, effortless even as his biceps bulged obscenely. The jealousy burning in his veins could have burnt down the whole place.

“I’m fine, thanks mate,” he replied instead, a tight smile through his set jaw. He could not bear to wash away the scent of Louis so soon, even if said omega was reeking of his own alpha as he sat on one of the stools.

Wordlessly, he slipped them two granola bars he had found. Attention was in the little acts just as well, and Harry contented himself with it so he may feel the itch under his skin had been scratched as Louis sent him a grateful smile. Under the gentle kitchen light with the soft pelting of the rain was the place that held all of Harry’s deepest desires. Lust could be brushed off and physical proximity tended to as if a symptom of loneliness or deep emotional bond – but his actual love shone in the increased beats of his heart as Louis appreciated the simplest gestures of his desire to protect and aid flourish. Crazy, what little acknowledgement from the person sought out so fervently yet secretly could do to one’s ego and hope.

The swirl of mirth in his heavy-lidded eyes reminded Harry of twirls in the kitchen in the very late nights, cramped in their small college dorm where all there was to life was cradled within the four stained walls. But this kitchen was larger, college was long gone, and Louis’ body moved not for him but for Ashton, seeking his warmth and gentle touches.

Harry swallowed a hard lump in his throat and turned around under the pretence of thirst so his tears may pass instead of roll down his cheeks.

“Did Louis give you the good news?” Ashton’s gravelly voice pierced the air again, so fond it dripped down and drowned Harry.

He filled another glass with a “indeed” whispered so the bitterness might not be picked up on. It wasn’t, because Harry had mastered the arts of hiding unfair jealousy, even when he faced them again and scowled at the sight of their entangled left hands with matching rings. Thankfully, the act was interrupted by Ashton gratefully taking the offered glass and Louis giving himself sweater paws. A long time ago, perhaps in the first year of their friendship, that sweatshirt had belonged to Harry. He wondered if Ashton knew.

“He was ecstatic,” Louis said, his sarcasm not picked up by his husband though Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. Though he had not been subtle in his lack of enthusiasm following the news, he did not believe Louis to have been affected by it so much he might refer to it later.

“Was he?” Ashton’s tone did not indicate disbelief, but still begged for a confirmation Harry offered with a reluctant nod. “That’s grand, then, ‘cause I had something to ask of you.”

He might just jump in a fire if he was asked to be the best man of either of them. Immediately thinking up excuses for which he may not be suited for it, he began with faux gratitude. “Oh, that is so very kind of you, but I don’t think I’m the best-”

“Nonsense!” Ashton cut him off, joyful as ever as he rounded the counter to meet Harry, who could not help but think about how awkward it was to stare at the shirtless man who was to marry the love of your life after fucking said love of your life in front of aforementioned shirtless man. How had his life come to this?

“No, honey, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Louis argued in a rare – though strange – moment of siding with Harry and preventing him from, at best, an awkward situation, and at worst devastating heartbreak.

“Of course, it’s a good idea,” Ashton dismissed nonetheless with a huge grin and a tap on Harry’s shoulder, “who would be better-suited to plan our wedding than our wedding-planner-slash-matchmaker-slash-closest friend?”

One blink. Another, then another. The scenery did not change except for the slight falter in Ashton’s smile. The stool scraped the ground with a grating sound that startled Harry as Louis walked to meet them, eyes kind and mouth open on further argument. He could not possibly bear to hear all the ways in which he had helped nurture their relationship and why this choice made so much sense to them.

“I’ll do it.” He did not feel himself say those words, could only hear them as a spectator to the car crash presented to him as his life.

“You will?” Louis stopped abruptly and asked, sounding incredulous.

“Of course, he will!” Ashton said with a laugh before embracing him, leaving Harry to stare at Louis’ confused face over his shoulder.  Their eyes met, no joy to be found in either of their gaze, both searching for something in the other.

Another blink, Louis was walking up to them and wrapping his small arms around them both to the best of his ability, sending a private yet watery smile up at Harry. Somewhere in the distance, the shattering of his heart could be faintly heard.

Following this impromptu emotional moment, Harry went through the motions of dressing for the harsh weather and living the loved-up couple to their cocoon. He must have talked to them, for they let him go without much fussing, though he could not remember it. Truly, he could not remember anything or be accounted for much more until he was met with Liam’s worried face and tired sigh.

Despite what Liam’s further opening of their front door without any question asked might suggest, Harry did not make it a habit of visiting his ex in the middle of the night, and rarely did it more by day. Though they had parted on friendly terms and worked together every once in a while, Harry was mindful of his new relationship with a man who, though as kind and trusting as one could be, also had his limits and a circumstantial dislike to him.

Still, Liam was a good man and handed Harry a cup of tea some time after sitting him down on their couch. He held onto it in silence until the cushion next to his dipped, Zayn slipping his arm around Harry’s shoulders to share his warm plaid. His scent, in Harry’s opinion, held no candle to Louis – but it settled around him comfortingly, much like Zayn’s embrace from where they were now wrapped up together. These moments of comparison had been the inevitable downfall of their relationship back in the day, but Zayn was the shape of an old comfort he could never truly overcome nor deserve.

“He’s getting married,” he whispered against Zayn’s shoulder, whose hand stopped its gentle ministrations in his curls for a second.

“Oh.” He did not have to ask who, never had to. Their relationship may have lacked romantic love but it was one full of silent understanding and acceptance.

“Ash asked me to plan their wedding.”

“Oh, Harry,” Zayn’s tone was gentle, cradling Harry further and holding him tightly as the sobs began to rack through him, because Zayn had immediately known Harry had accepted, would always accept without care for his own happiness.

And, while he may not make a habit of visiting his ex in the middle of the night, there was no one in this world that could hold the last pieces of his heart quite like Zayn – except, perhaps, the one who broke it in the first place.

Through his years of planning, Harry had come to realise every couple was difficult in their own right. It was to be expected when facing such a consequent project in their life, furthermore when the people found it important enough for someone else to help them plan it. While he loved the discussions, figuring out what the spouses desired and what could be feasibly done, the difference in each of his jobs, and the occasional possibility to truly express his vision and participate in one of the happiest day of these people’s life, high stress and expectations did not make people kind. The only one who had never even sighed or rolled his eyes at Harry would be Niall, who had an array of other baggage to make up for it and give a piece of his own mind.

Thankfully, working closely with his best friend with whom disagreements were scarce and time was always fun gave him high hopes. The period of the year made for fewer weddings to prepare, except for two that were in eight and twelve months respectively and were of those easy ones Harry was more used to at the beginning of his career than now that he made a name for himself and was more accustomed to high end customers. Combined with Louis’ flexible schedule following his most recent promotion as columnist, they were to meet less than a week after Harry’s unofficial hiring. Ashton’s schedule was filled yet unstable, so his presence was appreciated but not expected.

This, in particular, made things tricky for Harry’s heart. Though Louis’ place was huge and made continuously comfortable by the omega, they had decided to settle in the kitchen after an improvised lunch together. Sitting around the kitchen islands with his trusted notebook and paper spreads of rough ideas he always showed unsure clients in the first meetings, it was hard not to relax in a false sense of belonging. As if he were more than a worker who had been entrusted to make this a beautiful wedding for two people that were not himself. His imagination had run wild one too many times in the past, when asking for a specific flower composition or when looking for the colour theme of a wedding, traitorous mind whispering in his ears that Louis would surely like peach napkins – it was all too easy then, with his guards down and some of his assumptions already coming true, to slip into the persona of Louis’ other half.

Indeed, Louis’ request for a small wedding in a chapel far from the civilisation had come to no surprise to Harry, even as it excited him greatly. His work around the country had allowed him to make a list of places he had perfectly envisioned awaiting a pretty, all-white Louis at the end of an aisle. He could not quite come out with said list and accidentally expose its true origin, so he instead pretended that categorising every place he visits and thinks may fit at a later date was a habit of his he had recently taken. With every hum of awe or approval of Louis’, Harry further fell into temporary bliss. While to be known was a joy experienced often when truly loved, to know someone else so intrinsically was an experience so rare yet pure it could only bring unbridled pride. Said pride must leave notes of itself in his scent, for the smile Louis gave to him as he showed his favourite chapel so far was kind in all its lines. Harry wanted to kiss it a little, preferably under the gentle lights shown in the picture below.

It was bittersweet, in a way, to know they would fit so perfectly. When one’s love had been doomed, there was relief in the knowledge that the match had not followed where feelings resided, and thus their ending would have been predictable even in the most fortunate of cases. He did not have this chance, their compatibility shining through even in the most insignificant of details, similar where they ought to be and complementary everywhere else. Harry, even with his more meagre salary and means, could give Louis the wedding he hadn’t even know he had dreamed of. If only he had been left the chance.

However, Harry knew it to be easy to presume a fantasised relationship to be better than one rooted in reality and facing the struggles one did not burden themself imagining. He knew, but it did not somehow solve the issue of the undeserved superiority he granted himself whenever it was clear there was conflict where he only saw the solution and compromise.

As such, he decided to retire to the toilets when he caught himself picturing too vividly things that did not involve him. Louis was none the wiser, completely taken by the small place just thirty minutes north and the decorations Harry had imagined to accompany it. It was all too easy to fall back to when he had visited it, taking pictures and catching himself last second before he sent them to Louis. Back then, and though he meant no disrespect, their union had still somewhat been a possibility in his mind.

Now, staring at his only love as he envisioned himself saying ‘I do’ to another man, it was clear Harry had to erase those thoughts and move on to the best of his ability. His chance had slipped right through his cowardly fingers and he had none to blame but himself – certainly not the omega who had never suspected a thing, nor the alpha who had seen the gem in Louis and decided to never let him go.

Breathing was easier in the bathroom, far from the constant stimulus and the emotional ache in his chest lessening. However, it soon picked up again, tight around his lungs and sharp like no other. Overtaken by a coughing fit, Harry took a step forward and to the sink in the hopes of water helping it pass. A tickle in his throat got him bent over, choking with tears of pain in his eyes. They were violent, taking over his entire body while the growing and impossible itch grew, making his face heat with tension and lack of air.

With one last disgusting cough, something dislodged itself and freed his airways again. The first large gulp of air stung on its way yet calmed his racing heart. He took a few more erratic breaths after feeling so close to passing out before forcing himself to find a safer rhythm.

It wasn’t until he found it in him to swallow the excess of spit he’d produced that he opened his eyes. The sight before him was deeply troubling and he reached out with a shaking hand, holding it up to the light just to be sure. Small, thin in an obviously fragile way, and soft even when tainted by spit, Harry observed its wrinkles and soft pink colour with a confused frown.

For some reason, Harry had found himself with a flower petal stuck in his throat.

Another hard gulp reminded him of the impact of his odd predicament, putting his previous angst on the backburner. He came out without looking up from the petal, scared it might disappear with a simple blink, and guided himself through muscle memory all the way to Louis’ kitchen.

“Hey Lou, you’ll never guess what just happened,” he said with a much rawer voice before even stepping inside the room. Sharing would make it more real, which was both scary and all he could desire.

“Hi, Harry, all good?” Hearing Ashton’s voice out of nowhere was such a surprise Harry automatically unclenched his fingers and looked up.

Surely, there he was, drinking some energy drink from Australia while looking at Harry with a bright smile. His unusual outfit, proper suit on a man that preferred comfortable well-worn pieces, hinted at an important meeting he had just arrived back from. Louis’ wide smile, in turn, hinted at it having gone especially well.

“Clearly not as good as you, mate, looking very chic there,” Harry replied with easy banter. It truly was a shame Ashton was such a kind, funny guy, or perhaps that he was dating the only omega Harry would ever love – it made it difficult for either resentment or friendship to take over his heart. At times, it was easier to pretend they were no more than three friends hanging out, but the pile of wedding reception pictures on the counter made it hard to forget.

Ashton laughed while bashfully lowering his head, which is when he seemed to catch sight of aforementioned papers. “Oh, you looking at venues?”

“Yes, look at this one, it’s so beautiful!” Louis exclaimed then, pointing at Harry’s favourite one with stars in his eyes. What was one more stab at his heart?

“Oh, definitely, but I have even better news for you!” Ashton’s voice was excited as he pulled out his phone and scrolled for a couple seconds, enough for Louis to turn to Harry with confusion. “My producer is, like, this super rich man – filthy rich, honestly, the pig – though don’t tell him I said that. Anyway, the boys told him we were getting married and…” he trailed off then until seemingly finding what he wanted, angling his screen so both Louis and Harry may see it, “he’s offering to lend us his castle! The wedding would have to happen before May in that case, some sort of inheritance issues, but isn’t that lovely? We could have a weekend long reception with so many people and no fear of where to house them!”

The castle, truly, was beautiful. Its gardens had perfectly trimmed hedges and flowers that bloomed spectacularly on a terrain that seemed to go on forever, and the gentle white bricks of the infrastructure itself as well as its intricate sculptures and mouldings made it a fairy tale backdrop for a wedding. Ashton had been quite right when saying his producer was filthy rich, as the waiting list to marry in such a place was so long people had to get their name on it before proposing.

“Oh,” Louis still said, because he was Louis and not someone who thrived in the lavish lifestyle. His voice was faux cheerful as he added “That is so kind of him.”

“It is,” Harry agreed, because that was a situation he ought not to involve himself in.“Don’t you like it, Lou?” Ashton asked with a small voice. It was obviously always sad to have to turn down a partner’s input, but it was best to be truthful and find compromises when it came to a wedding. It was good foundations for a marriage, and Harry had learnt to know those that would last from those that would slowly dwindle and die.

“I do, I truly do!” Louis unfortunately lied without hesitation, and Harry visibly cringed. Ashton, for his part, had a reluctant smile on his lips. Louis got up and took his face in his hands as he added, “It is a once in a lifetime offer for a once in a lifetime day, and it would look quite bad of us to refuse such a kind gift.”

The downward slip of his mouth, this time, was purely personal. Their love (and quick dismissal of conflict as unimportant in the face of it) was bright like the sun – and Harry could not help but turn his eyes away so he may escape the pain, though he could not escape their delving into details about the castle they were to marry in.

Mockingly, St Thomas’ Chapel stared back at him at the top of a pile of wasted years.

Hanging out with Niall Horan was always a unique experience. There was no blueprint to what seeing the man would entail, and Harry was stuck following along more often than not. Sometimes, that meant going to a karaoke bar with a group of Mexican tourists he had befriended earlier in the day; others, it meant looking for a lock under a bridge at 4am; once, it had been both in the same night.

Harry rarely stayed in touch with his customers past a certain degree of mutual politeness and hearing of them through their friends he had been recommended to. However, rare were the people who could come in Niall’s life and then leave. Hell, even his ex-wife that had left him at the altar was still on friendly enough terms with him that they shared gardening tips. It was both admirable and scary, but Harry was glad for the friendship.

Once college done and no direct incentive to entertain friendships aside from business interests and basic human need for interactions, most of Harry’s relationships had fallen to the occasional celebratory texts and awkward encounter at the personal hygiene aisle. It could not mean anything good that his closest friends were his ex-boyfriend and his best friend he had been in love with for the better part of his life, with a nice feature of ex-boyfriend’s current mate, best friend’s future husband, and said husband’s friends to a certain extent.

All in all, his companionship with Niall was not the unhealthiest one he had.

 It was with a heavy heart but high expectations of reassurance that he had accepted to join him at the pub, even at 3pm on a Saturday. He had not much better to do except work on the wedding of his one-sided soulmate, and it had been some time since he had been able to enjoy a nice beer without awkwardly tangled feelings weighing on the atmosphere. It was also a plus that Niall, who was always funniest and warmest person in any room, could generally be stirred away from bad ideas and lack of impulse control when the sun was still shining.

“A handsome Alpha like you should be driving something better than a fucking Smart, is all I’m saying,” Niall mumbled around a mouthful of fries. Yes, befriending Niall was one of the best accidents to ever happen to Harry, except perhaps when it came to cars.

“It’s easy to park,” Harry sighed out, his own mouth still half-full. They made for an aggravating sight.

“What’s the point of getting to park when you look like an absolute knob when you step out?”

“My car is not an extension of my-” Harry cut himself abruptly off, trachea shutting and choking him mid-sentence. Talking and speaking had clearly been a mistake as the thing lodged in his throat made him wheeze, unable to cough.

“Wow, went down the wrong pipe?” Niall asked with a frown as he slid his beer towards him.

Harry shook his head and started tapping on his chest, trying to provoke a cough. Time seemed so long as he alternated between trying to breathe it out and swallow it down. Panic seized him as light-headedness creeped up on him, slow and dangerous, with Niall finally getting up. The noises he was making were disgusting, sounding like a retching cat, garnering everyone’s attention around him.

Then, Niall’s hand came down strongly between his shoulder blades and something slid out, freeing him with a painful groan.

Harry took his glass and swallowed it down in one go, falling back to the leather seat with heavy breaths. His eyes were closed so tears may not fall, and he rubbed his throat in some self-soothing gesture that barely worked. Choking to the extent of almost passing out was not an enjoyable experience, neither the first nor the second time in less than a week.

“What the fuck is that?” The shriek registered in his muffled brain, and Harry groggily opened his left eye to stare at Niall.

Niall, who was otherwise too busy looking down at the pink petal now sitting on the table. It was so perfect it might have been plucked directly from a flower and deposited in front of Harry, but memories suddenly flooded back and made him blanch. He had completely forgotten his previous incident, yet now could not escape the reality of his situation.

“Uh,” he eloquently replied, because his brain was entirely empty of thoughts or understanding, stuck on a loop of ‘what the fuck’.

“Did someone put this in your food? Do they realise how much of a safety hazard that was – you almost died! Oh, they’re going to hear about this.”

His voice raised with each word, accent thick as he pulled up his sleeves, but before he could go and traumatise some poor unknowing cook, Harry grabbed his arm with what little force he could muster and stopped him.

“It’s not the first time it happens, they did nothing wrong,” Harry explained, wishing to calm him down so the scene they were causing might stop. An apologetic smile sent to the tables around him got them to turn their eyes away and instead focus on their food.

“Not the- what the absolute fuck, Harry.”

Perhaps his choice of subject to settle Niall was not a smart one. It was a lost cause no matter what, as once the beta had managed to draw the full explanation out of Harry (or what little explanation he had for his apparent ‘becoming a plant’ situation), he had told him to immediately go see a doctor. Demanded it, really, brows furrowed like his mother when she was disappointed in his grades – and, while Harry was one to avoid medical visits as much as possible, he had to admit the situation was eerie at best, downright fatal at worse. It would be just his luck that a new parasite would have been found to have infected him, spreading an illness that would bear his name.

Problem was, there was only one doctor he trusted not to simply throw him out of his office for wasting his time if he were to explain this weird phenomenon, and said doctor was no fan of his. Still, he had admitted defeat to Niall who would not let down until he had seen a proof of a doctor’s visit himself, thus pride had to be swallowed as he came to the waiting room of one Dr Payne.

After checking in with the nice secretary at the front, who warned him he did not need an appointment but as Liam was soon to be closing the centre there was little chance he would take him in, Harry sat down in the most comfortable chairs he had ever known at a doctor and waited. He was alone, further signal of his less than desirable presence so late on a weekend, but still had to risk it. Either way, new doctor’s office meant new three years old magazines he had not yet read, so time was easy to pass and his anxiety easy to ignore.

“Harry?” called Liam as he was fully immersed in an article about the methodology of fishing tuna. “I am sorry to inform you Zayn is not here,” he added, and though he sounded truly apologetic, the strong set of his brows indicated it was more of a jab than a genuine desire to inform him.

“I know.” Harry brushed it off, considering his annoyance was somewhat fair. “I’m coming to see you. As a doctor.”

That changed Liam’s demeanour entirely, who invited him inside of his office with the professionalism he would have with anyone else, if not perhaps more resigned silence. Harry could not help but notice the clock had hit five and he had not been rejected, counting it as a small proof of his presence in Liam’s good grace – or perhaps his incredible dedication to healing his peers.

“What prompts this visit?” Liam asked once they were all settled in his warm office. Harry noticed a picture of him and Zayn in Portugal on the side of his desk and smiled a little, charmed at this little token of their love.

A throat clearing brought him back to present time and he fumbled to take the petal he had hidden in his inner coat pocket. Putting it on the table, Liam stared at it like Harry was pulling some particularly unfunny practical joke on him. It could have looked like it following his strange behaviour, but Harry was still reeling from a near-death experience and was facing a man who was kind to everyone but him, so he believed he deserved reprieve.

“So, uh, I coughed this out earlier, and another similar one a few days ago.” His cadence was awkward, slow drawl still affected by his choking from earlier, and Liam further furrowed his eyebrows. Some more and Harry would be more worried about the doctor than himself.

“The petal?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“Harry, if this is a joke…”

A new coughing fit got him then, much less painful as the petal simply slipped out from the confines of his body and flew down on his knees from where he had hunched over. Though the sensation was still less than pleasant, he had to bless the coincidence for Liam had seen it all and could not assume Harry to have somehow planned this. Oddly enough, the grand age of 27 begged for better past-times than elaborate pranks that were nowhere near funny, and Harry did not have the time or finances to create a system that would hide petals inside his mouth to be coughed out when needed. Surely, and despite his poor opinion of him, Liam knew it too.

“Could it be,” Liam began saying, standing up and looking through a small array of bookshelves behind his chair without finishing his thought aloud.

Harry did not beg for addition though he needed those answers quickly, instead fighting his impatience as he carefully picked up the new petal and left it next to the first. He wondered then what flower they may belong to and why said flower seemed to have lodged itself in his lungs, something his fear had not yet allowed himself to consider. Though he had not believed in the watermelon seed story since he was an early child, those unsure times brought it back to the forefront of his mind. While improbable, it was not like his repeated expulsion of petals was any less extravagant, if not plain fucked up.

“Do you have water?” he managed to ask once the shakes of his body had settled, and Liam gave him a vague indication to get something from the back without looking up. There, a fridge awaited him with a cold water bottle he slowly emptied and nursed between each sip.

It was not until the drink reached room temperature that Liam seemed to have found what it was he looked for.

“Okay, this might sound a little crazy but bear with me.” Harry wanted to tell him that he was apparently stuck with a plant in his oesophagus so his standards for crazy had drastically raised, but he contended himself with a nod. “There is a sickness, so rare less than a hundred cases have ever been documented all around the world, to the point where its existence is even doubted. This book – where it is called hanahaki disease – talks extensively about this particular symptom you have. Have you been experiencing a sore throat recently?”

“Yeah, just like most people this time of year?” Harry asked with a bit more sarcasm than he should have, though Liam seemed too focused to care, or perhaps too used to Louis’ constant sass.

Without further ado, Liam added, though it was unclear whether he talked to Harry or himself then. “Your voice has been a bit hoarse recently, which I had pegged to be due to a recurring cold, though it was surprising of an Alpha. You have also been paler, perhaps a bit thinner around the face too. Have your hands been cold?”

“Liam,” Harry interjected and the other man finally lifted his eyes to him again. “You do realise all the things you are telling me now are just… normal things to experience during winter? Of course, I’m pale when there’s no sun, and all these bundles of clothes obviously make me appear thinner, and don’t get me started on sore throats and runny noses.”

Liam bit his lip and his eyes flitted down to the book he had been reading. While Harry had always respected him as a doctor, he was revaluating his assessment now if he was, as the patient, the one who had to reassure the professional.

“Have you been feeling weaker, perhaps more tired?” Liam asked nonetheless, if a little more sheepishly.

Harry groaned out – he thought they had gone over this already. “Liam.”

“Harry.” His tone was sharp like it never was, and Harry pinched his lips so he would not snap back, offended alpha poorly restrained. “I hear you, but typical winter sicknesses do not include coughing up petals, and alphas rarely ever experience those in the first place. You have obviously been experiencing all the symptoms I have listed, and I believe my suggestion is the best one you have as of right now, innit?”

Harry deflated by the end of his sentence, losing all his self-righteous irritation. While being told he had been infected by a weird illness that might have been purely made up by a few malevolent historians was unexpected and slightly disappointing of their health care system, Harry had to admit he had not been seeking much better answers. His situation was one he could not explain and every possibility was worth looking into.

“I guess it could be,” he admitted defeat, settling in the role of listening patient – he had picked Liam for a reason, and he was back to doubting his trust was misplaced. Surely, if not for pure respect of the Hippocratic Oath, his knowledge at how much Zayn cared about Harry wouldn’t allow Liam to treat this with anything but utmost seriousness. “But, how would I even catch it? Is it some weird parasite?”

“Erm,” Liam hesitated, looking truly awkward for the first time. Harry grew apprehensive immediately, wondering what kind of weird STI he had been diagnosed with. “Well, it says here the reason would be unrequited love between two true mates.”

And- oh. That was quite a blunt way to receive confirmation that Louis had never and would never feel the same, because who could it be if not him? His hand came to rub at his chest to ease the sting, and he finished the last of the water bottle in a useless attempt to wash down the bitterness of heartbreak. Liam’s eyes were sympathetic, if a little guarded, as he carried on.

“Perhaps something within our wolves DNA, as that is not a normal human reaction to any form of trauma, including emotional one. Our wolf DNA is only at the very start of its breaking down and understanding of how it affects us, and cases like these that could help further understanding have never been able to be studied.”

“Why’s that?” Harry asked, as if all his brain called for wasn’t for him to lay down and weep.

“Well, that’s the part that worries me: no one has ever survived past their following mating cycle, the condition only worsening until it killed them then,” Liam’s voice lowered with each word and he winced by the end, clearly uncomfortable with placing the cherry on top of the five-layers-of-fucked-up cake.

“Oh.”

There was nothing more to say, not even as Liam’s gaze was more sympathetic than it had ever been as it set on Harry. He could not care less then, not when he had been told he would be dead within the next three months because the omega his alpha had chosen and imprinted on could never love him like Harry needed him to. God, truly needed him to – for his very own survival, for the sake of no longer having to feel the slow drag of the petal against his trachea.

Liam, in the meantime, had printed a prescription for a pulmonary radio and promptly signed it. He wrote down on a separate post-it note the name of a trusted peer that would take Harry as soon as it would be possible, and explained he ought to treat it like the early signs of anaemia as of now. Harry nodded in a daze, not able to hold a conversation following his whole world crashing down.

As he reached the door, Liam called for him one last time. Though he had still mostly managed to appear the doctor he was during this consultation, he suddenly looked just like the man who had opened up his door to him a few days prior with tired eyes.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Though it may appear invasive and unprofessional, I have to ask this question for my own peace of mind.” He took a deep breath and Harry looked at him with as much confusion as could take place in his mind. “Is this about Zayn?”

The little laugh that left his lip was completely uncontrolled and somewhat rude, judging by Liam immediately closing off once again. Harry pinched his lip together and shook his head.

“You can tell me if it is, I am not a knothead alpha who will beat you up or-”

“It’s not,” Harry voiced this time, not desiring to hear the rest of Liam’s semi-outraged rant.

“Oh, thank God,” Liam sighed out, and Harry’s laugh lasted a bit longer. “I don’t know what I would have done then, though I guess it would at least mean there was truly no remnant of feelings left on Zayn’s part.”

“Trust me, Liam,” Harry started, so genuine Liam looked at him with his puppy-eyed look for the first time, “if Zayn had ever loved me half as much as he loves you, he would be the one coughing up petals right now. We are nothing more than two extremely well-attuned with one another friends, and I doubt we were ever more to be completely truthful.”

Liam’s nods revealed eyes that were a little too watery for this first heartfelt moment not to turn awkward, and he was quick to thrust his hand in Harry’s direction so they may shake the last of their stiffness with each other off. Once Harry promised not to come bother them in the middle of the night without at least a text in advance again in exchange for Liam to keep silent on this whole situation to Zayn, he departed and walked to his car with a whole new perspective on the world.

Indeed, such promises had to be made, for he could not afford the couple’s combined knowledge to reveal Harry was now possibly dying because of his one-sided love to Liam’s younger cousin. Not when the truth would hurt more than a few months of harsh coughs until he could convince his alpha to suck it up.

He would survive.

Harry received the results through an informal text from Liam while settling in his office with Louis over zoom. A thick layer of snow had rendered almost all transportation useless, making it impossible for him to either go to the hospital to discuss the conclusion to his numerous operations with the doctor – what had started as a simple radio ending up with two different blood tests and an endoscopy – or actually accomplish his numerous tasks with his customers. Thankfully, there was little modern technology could not palliate to, and putting Louis as his final call of the day had been a purposeful motor so he would not indulge in some lazing about. The cold and lack of vitamins had slowly sucked him out of his daily energy and he found himself needing more rest than ever before.

Perhaps it had not been the cold, if the message from Liam was to be trusted. He completely froze as he skimmed through a jumble of medical terms he barely understood that led him down to the very end of the message, saying that evidence strongly supported him as the first recorded case of hanahaki disease in the last three decades.

“Harry?” called Louis, his sunshine that breathed death into his lungs.

“Sorry, you were saying?” he prompted, pushing what he should really focus on in the back of his mind as he turned off his phone. No one but Louis could have him ignoring the declaration of his in favour of paying attention to him, but that was not surprising as it was the exact predisposition that led Harry to this point.

 “Are you alright?” Louis asked, which was definitely not what he had said and just another proof of how much they knew each other. If only it had been enough.

Humour was the best weapon in his case, and Harry took on a caricature of a frown as he asked “Are you saying I look like shit? Come on, I even brushed my hair.”

Louis huffed a little laugh and told him to fuck off, but at least he had been convinced all was well. Grainy screens allowed for more leeway, as Louis could not currently smell the distress and fear that permeated every wall in Harry’s home office, only his slightly wobbly smile and his shifty eyes. It was not necessarily a rare sight either, not in the last two years.

“So, are you coming with a plus one or not?” Louis finally revealed what his true first question was, and Harry’s heart jumped in his throat. To think Harry’s potential date was so casual to him made his chest hurt a little.

“While making the guest list early on is good, especially if you want Zayn to make the invites, it’s best with an actual date, love,” he stalled instead of admitting there was no chance of him bringing anyone except perhaps Niall.

“Oh, I haven’t told you? We settled on the 19^th and 20^th of April, bleeding onto 21^st for the ones closest to us. It’s kind of the only time we can, really, what with Ashton’s tour and…”

Harry did not hear any more as his ears seemed to ring while the dates echoed in his brain. April 20^th had been etched into his brain ever since realising his rut would start on that day, sitting heavy at the back of Harry’s mind as potentially the last day of his life.

Not potential, not since the confirmation of unusual and unnatural presence of flora in his lungs.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Louis asked, distracted as he had apparently gotten bored of waiting for Harry’s brain to reconnect.

“Can’t come to the wedding.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s, uh, well,” he said, feeling slightly awkward discussing this subject with Louis, “that’s when my rut begins. On the twentieth, normally – and I’m pretty well regulated.”

“Oh no,” Louis said, distress in his voice even as red coated his cheeks so obviously even bad webcams could not hide it. “We can postpone it then, put it at a later date – or sooner, if we work very quickly I guess, we can find a way-”

“You can’t. Later is impossible, you said it yourself, and sooner would mean a mediocre wedding at best because no worker can go so fast with all the preparations, even when you’re loaded.”

While Harry felt happy his presence was so desired Louis was ready to throw off their plans without a second plan, Harry could not express the same excitement at the prospect of seeing the ceremony. Furthermore, postponing it meant cancelling it, as Louis would never accept to marry following his death – not with the high risk of Liam coming out with the reason for his death. He could not deprive his best friend of a joy he had always sought and dreamed of, not without plummeting straight to hell.

“But-”

“No buts. I’ll be there throughout the whole process and will definitely assist to the rehearsal – maybe I’ll even get to see the actual ceremony!” (He strongly hoped not.) “Otherwise, I’ll be watching all the videos later, and I’ll only be one phone call away for as long as possible.” (If he was not already cold by the time the rings were exchanged.)

“Harry, I cannot do this without you.” Louis did not show his feelings often, remnants of social anxiety that had paralysed him throughout most of his teenage years, but his face was nothing but raw as he pleaded with Harry. However, he knew there could not be a safe solution for Harry to assist to the wedding when in the begin stages of his rut, and as such was not looking for a false promise from him, but reassurance.

Harry covered his mouth to prevent honesty that would break Louis from spilling out, and waited a few seconds until he could look at him kindly and selflessly.

“Yes, you can. Lou, you have done so much on your own, even things you had convinced yourself you needed someone to hold your hand through. And while it is an honour to be wanted as the man beside you,” (though not in the way that mattered most to him then) “you are not alone in this. Ashton is here with you, and this ceremony is only there to show he will be for the rest of your lives. You have to trust he will be there for you to hold you down when needed and free you when you finally have faith in yourself. You are a team, I’m just – the coach, maybe.”

Louis’ laugh looked a little like sob, just like they always did when he would seek reassurance from Harry and receive a few dumb jokes as a gift. It had been an art he had mastered extremely early in their friendship, something he took pride in as the only one to ever truly bring down Louis. Once, it had appeared as the representation of something deeper, a silent promise of their unmatched devotion for one another all through the years and the temporary loves – today, it was the sign that he had to step down and let the man who truly deserved it to take his place, only able to hope he would know the perfect timing of when to joke and when to pull Louis in and press on the underside of his skull until all his thoughts quieted down.

“I’ll miss you, Harry,” Louis said, which really meant that Harry had won the argument and lost on every other level. Somehow, it sounded like more, a promise for Harry to carry in the afterlife.

“And I’ll miss you more.” That, he knew, had to be a fact. What was one’s trusted person’s absence on their happiest day to another’s trusted person’s absence on their most harrowing?

“Perhaps you should join us on our honeymoon,” he joked, going back to writing down the list of names.

Harry forced a laugh but otherwise stayed silent, staring at the top of Louis’ hair through his laptop screen and hoping their honeymoon would be on a far, secluded island where his death would only reach them once they would be back. Surely, he could cope with Louis’ resentment, if not hate, for the rest of his eternal damnation, if he at least held the knowledge that he had granted him three more weeks of bliss.

If heaven had to look like a place on Earth, it would surely look like a wedding dress shop. With white and cream colours everywhere, a purposefully gentle atmosphere to counter the high stress of brides, and the rows upon rows of soft fabric, Harry had always felt quite jealous of the people who got to assist the gown picking, as his job was merely to find the right place.

However, his position as Louis’ best friend extended his obligations as a wedding planner, making him sit on a highly comfortable chair on a Saturday, surrounded by Louis’ two eldest sisters and Taylor, Louis’ favourite colleague. Zayn was supposed to tag along but a bad case of flu had him stuck in bed instead, though Harry was in charge of sending him a picture of each outfit so he may give his opinion.

Learning he had been asked to do the invitations from scratch for Louis and Ashton’s wedding had been such an honour as a starting business owner that Zayn had been quick to offer his services for all the thing, he could give advices on, calling his expertise through countless rewatches of Say Yes to the Dress and working in close quarters with Harry. Louis, who had liked Zayn more and more through the years following his and Harry’s breakup, had immediately accepted, comforting Harry in his decision to keep Zayn unknowing of his condition.

It had been hard, the first time they had met again in a shop, as Zayn had immediately commented on how pale Harry was, much more than his usually fair skin was. Harry had stared at him like a deer in headlights, raising Zayn’s suspicions drastically as he stared at him in search of an answer he could not bear. By some miracle, Liam had stepped out of another aisle right then, noticing Harry’s stress and asking if the complements he had prescribed him were having a positive effect. So caught in the happiness of Harry and Liam finally holding a conversation that slightly breached the most basic of civility, Zayn had no longer insisted on finding the root cause of Harry’s pitiful sight and instead invited Harry over to dinner.

One raised brow from Liam in his direction had Harry quickly declining, stating they could instead meet to discuss the paper and calligraphy Louis desired over afternoon tea another day. He could not make an enemy out of his best ally quite so soon, and Liam had rewarded him with a tap on his shoulder and an advice to drink chamomile tea every morning.

Liam had not been involved in the outfit picking, the venue not favouring the presence of two alphas in their quarters. Indeed, Louis had decided on a wedding dress shop instead of the more traditional suit-fitting after much convincing from Fizzy, who told everyone she had a vision. It had all begun after she had gone to a friend’s wedding a few months prior, who had worn a white jumpsuit as she was uncomfortable with dresses. Back then, she had sent a message to Harry telling him that he would have to convince Louis to wear one at their wedding; now, he was marrying someone else and the convincing mission fell back on her shoulders.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she had said with a frown when he stepped in, late because of bad traffic.

“Excuse me?” he asked while Lottie hissed “Fizzy! We talked about this.”

Harry had been confused by this borderline rude welcome coming from people so close they could be his own family, but shrugged it off after Fizzy apologised and walked to hug him in greeting, which he then did to everyone else. A large coat he had not yet taken off did not allow them to feel his receding strength or smaller muscles where they were used to his imposing stature that could hold them up easily.

The ease with which pain and sickness could be hidden was both a relief in his situation, and an acknowledgment that carried loneliness and spread it across his body as he sat next to the loud women. To avoid bitterness, he was left to wonder if he would have noticed had he been in their shoes, or if perhaps his tendency to be stuck on Louis made him a blind man to the sufferings of the world. To what extent were all their lives intertwined, and could he fault others for making subconscious choices that did not include him and made it so easy for him to fade into the background? It would be quite unfair, especially when his inner proud alpha felt a twisted sense of pride at not having his weaknesses displayed for the world to see, even if it so meant he had to face the battle relatively alone with none to tend his wounds.

A nudge of the elbow brought him back to the situation at hand, shaking his head and focusing on the conversation happening around him. Apparently, they had picked all the outfits they would like for Louis to try on during his absence, so Harry was simply there as a judge and Zayn’s spokesperson. He was sat between an overexcited Fizzy and a tipsy Taylor, who was gone with only one glass of champagne and had taken to the role of filling the time in between each of Louis’ outing with all the workplace drama – including the ones involving celebrities. Harry, who had been running on low energy, could only bless her for her dynamic story-telling, for he might have fallen asleep right on his chair otherwise.

“I’m unsure about this one- oh, hi Haz!” Louis interrupted them, looking outstanding in a cream-coloured silk jumpsuit, tight around the waist and loose everywhere else. His short legs made for a slight length problem with the fabric, which he solved by lifting the bottom a little so he may walk to Harry and give him a hug, looking for all intent like a Disney princess. It clenched around Harry’s heart as Louis bent down so he may reach Harry’s level, a weird position that had his nose pressed directly into the omega’s neck, hitting him with a fresh wave of cherry and cream. For the first time in weeks, Harry felt like he could breathe, filling his lungs with the sweet scent and all the memories it held.

“Hi Lou, looking gorgeous,” he whispered in Louis’ ears, making him chuckle directly into his hair. Harry’s hold tightened uncontrollably with the desire to pull him into his lap and hold him properly, perhaps inhale his scent some more – but Louis pulled away then with a kiss on his cheek and a dazzling grin to pair it with.

“Thank you, love,” he said to Harry softly, holding his gaze for a few seconds, always those couple of seconds too long they took as young as awkward fifteen-year-olds interacting for the first time. In the blink of an eye, the shy Louis with braces that had stepped inside the school newspaper room to join as a writer disappeared, leaving in its wake a grown, successful, happy man who twirled prettily so his family may admire the sight of him in his potential wedding gown. “And you, what are we thinking girls?”

Everyone readily expressed their approval of the outfit, talking about how it nicely complimented Louis’ chest tattoo from where it peeked out and made his legs appear longer thanks to how high it tied around the waist. Zayn, once Harry stopped drooling and remembered his second mission, talked highly about the suit but remarked it did not work much as wedding wear, looking too casual. That remark had everyone agreeing, and it was discarded with much pain on Harry’s part.

It went like this for another half-hour, some jumpsuits much easier to put on than others, with differing designs and colours and textures. In Harry’s humble opinion, they all looked spectacular, making him slowly lose his grip on the last of his self-restraint. With every lull in conversation, his thoughts strayed to Louis changing in that little room, only a thin curtain and what was left of his dignity preventing him from sliding inside and getting a taste of Louis, one last time. The soft fabrics always called attention to the gentle curve of his shoulders and collarbones, his muscular biceps and his dainty wrist, his small waist and thick thighs. What was a king to the man who would get to slide this silk off his body to feast upon Louis on their shared honeymoon?

“I’m sorry for earlier, by the way,” Fizzy leaned to whisper in his ear as Harry stared so hard at the curtain separating them from Louis it almost looked like he could see through it.

“What?” Harry asked after a slight jump, focusing instead on the beta he had come to love like his own sister.

“You know, when you came in. I didn’t want to make it seem like I didn’t want you here, I just…” she trailed off, looking at Lottie apprehensively, who was busy texting someone with a pleased smile on her face. Harry was pretty sure it was Calum, but both Ashton and Louis liked to lie to themselves and deny the clearly mutual attraction there, so he did not bring it forward now.

“You just…?” he prompted instead, wondering what could have provoked her adverse reaction when she seemed quite happy to have him there now.

She sighed, leaned some more and whispered: “You know I really like Ashton, he’s an absolutely great guy and treats Louis great. But…” She bit her lip, looking suddenly much like the 8-year-old he had met all those years ago. “We all know it should have been you, proposing to Louis – not sitting there, helping him pick out his suit as his best friend.”

“Fizz…” he sighed, heart thumping and cheeks reddening. Torn between reprimanding her for sticking her nose where it didn’t belong and thanking her for this show of love and support, he opened his mouth without knowledge of what would come out.

It didn’t matter, because they were soon distracted by movements on Louis’ side of the room as he stepped out once again. All words evaded Harry as he looked at him. His eyes traced the intricate lace on his chest and arms, swirls that complimented the warm shade of his skin, running down into wide-legged pants that almost looked like a dress. He looked like what Harry imagined a mermaid stepping out of water should, and he was absolutely bewitched.

Their eyes met before he could control himself, steel his gaze into something more platonic than lustful, and Louis must have caught it for his cheeks turned red and he was quick to look at the other people. Harry’s whole being jumpstarted, fire in his bloods at the sensual slide of the fabric as Louis moved about. His silent admiration fought the irrational jealousy at having this physical barrier between Louis’ skin and his eyes, his hands, his mouth. He tried to focus instead on the others, who were all vocal, strongly deeming it the perfect outfit with agreement from the two saleswomen. Louis shyly preened under all the compliments yet still refused to meet Harry’s gaze, even as he hummed in agreement at the comment about it ‘perfectly complimenting Louis’ curves’. The words Fizzy had said rang true in his ears, wondering what on Earth he was doing sending Louis off to marry someone that wasn’t him, not even trying to fight for him. It was shameful, and his heart hurt and clenched as he imagined looking at Louis walk towards Ashton before promising himself to him forever.

“Louis, can I see you?”

His question was abrupt, surprising even himself as he stood up. Everyone looked at him confusedly, clear wonder at what had prompted his sudden outburst when they had been busy talking about the slight alterations the suit would need to be flawless. Still, Louis looked at him, same kindness he always showed when Harry’s impulsiveness reared its head back in. No one had ever tolerated it or dealt with it as well as Louis, and his readiness to help Harry even on a day that should be focused solely on himself made him all the more kissable. There had been no hesitation before he nodded, trusting like he shouldn’t be when he turned his back on Harry and guided him out.

As they stepped out of the room and towards the front of the small shop, Harry caught Fizzy’s knowing eyes and couldn’t help but give a small nod. He could no longer stand by in silence, not when this connection and love was no fruit of his imagination but something everyone acknowledged.

“What is it, Harry?” Louis asked, though his voice was soft and his inquiry genuine, not a trace of annoyance to be felt. The dizzy spell Harry had been going through since his sudden standing up cleared as Louis naturally brought forward calming pheromones, taking his hand in his and looking at him earnestly.

“Louis, I’m so sorry,” Harry whispered, taking a step forward. He saw the way Louis’ mouth opened, probably ready to question Harry further, ask what there was to be sorry for, but Harry could not let him do so. Desire to swallow the question out of Louis’ lips, kiss him with so much intent he might feel as breathless and weak as he had been made to feel, pulsed with the strength of a thousand stars. His world faded away so only Louis was there, a bright light in the deepest of darkness, the only source of warmth in the cold, the only cure to this deep sickness pumping in his veins. Their breaths mingled together as Louis did not stop him, staring for what could have been two seconds or a thousand years as Harry approached him. This closeness had never been granted to them, all the careful walls they had put up tumbling down, only them in the middle of the world like two magnets that could not escape their destiny. Harry could swear he already tasted cherry on the tip of his tongue, staring at the freckles on Louis’ face through half-lidded eyes and knowing that before the next breath the world took, he would capture Louis’ lower lip between his own.

Their glass refuge broke around them, the strident noise of the bell ringing had Louis jumping backwards, hitting a rack of dress that toppled dangerously. Harry also took a step back, milder, closing his eyes as he tried to tame the jackrabbiting of his heart. There, for a few sweet seconds of eternity, Harry had almost kissed the most beautiful shade of pink God had graced this Earth with.

“Hi baby,” he heard then, because life could not let him catch a break.

When he opened his eyes, Louis was held tightly in Ashton’s arms, face turned away from him. Ever since working on his anxiety and weaving pride in all of his actions, Louis had detested hiding away from anything – Harry felt a little sick at bringing back out that part of him he had taken so long to overcome. Still, he nodded in acknowledgement at Ashton’s small wave he gave while kissing the top of Louis’ head, unaware of what had just transpired. Harry’s smile was strained before he turned around and pretended to look through the veils behind him, face falling once out of view to instead deal with the swarm of emotions twisting his insides.

“I came as fast as I could, didn’t know if I would catch you in time,” Ashton breathed in his back, not quite a whisper yet low enough that it was probably meant as a more private conversation. Harry listened nonetheless.

“I’m just glad you’re here, but what do you mean ‘in time’? You know we’re not even supposed to see each other’s outfit before the wedding!”

Louis’ voice was so light and teasing it could only be fake, even more so considering the difference in volume between him and Ashton, and Harry felt a surge of annoyance at Ashton’s incapacity to hear those and question Louis. He wondered what would the omega’s answer be then, had he been called out and put on the spot and decided to come out with the truth in his terrible fumble of panic he always fell back to; how he would describe the earlier accident when he had done little to stop it before they were interrupted, if he would even admit his own attraction, if saying it aloud would be enough for Louis to question why he had even allowed Harry to get away with so much.

A man could only dream, he thought self-depreciatingly as the mixed scents of Ashton and Louis reached him.

“So, you know Harris, the guy who designed our outfit for the Brits?” Ashton asked, poorly concealing his excitement though Harry frowned in confusion.

Louis sounded just as confused as he replied “yes?”

“Well, he said he would gladly make our wedding suits!” Though his voice had boomed with enthusiasm, there was an uncomfortable stretch of silence following it even Harry felt the brunt of. Ashton continued, pushing forward in the way only self-built artists knew how to. “He could secretly make us unique matching suits and we would only know it on the day of, isn’t that an amazing idea?”

“Yeah…” Louis trailed off, voice much too quiet for an omega constantly so loud. Harry turned around then, desire to comfort him immediate, but was surprised by Louis already looking at him. “I guess it would be nice,” he said, though it sounded like he was waiting for Harry’s approval.

In Harry’s opinion, it would be a shame for Louis not to pick this outfit he clearly took a strong liking to and had the chance to choose with the people closest to him. Just as well, it was well-documented that Louis’ anxiety made receiving an important amount of focused attention both a need and an excruciating experience in most cases, even as an adult who had it mostly under control. That, paired with his desire for simple things, made this out to be a lovely idea, but a doomed one when it came to Louis Tomlinson.

Harry opened his mouth to argue that it was best not to add a suit made from scratch if they desired to meet their deadline, three months going particularly fast when it came to weddings. Before he could, however, Louis broke their connection to instead focus back on Ashton – who had been side-eyeing Harry ever since stepping in – and nod with a smile.

“Yes, it will be lovely, and I am happy that your crew is so willing to help us out. Plus, it will mean more money for the honeymoon.”

“That’s my boy,” Ashton said with his bright smile coming back, leaning forward to rub his nose with Louis’. “And, we can always get you that beautiful jumpsuit for another occasion, the Grammys or Doris’ play in June.”

Louis laughed shortly before coughing, though he didn’t let it deter him. “I wouldn’t want to steal the spotlight from either of you.”

“It would be an honour, Mister Tomlinson-soon-to-be-Irwin.”

Harry could not look away from their smiles, knowing he was intruding yet unable to leave them alone, either for their or his sake. Walking away would have been so much easier than witnessing this, and Ashton was a much better man than Harry, whose left eye twitched as he saw Louis settle in the arms of his fiancé, kissing him sweetly. His presence must have been heavy on their mind, for they kept it short before Ashton fully turned to him with slight tension between his brows.

“Good to see you, Haz, and uh, I hope everything’s good with you mate.”

“Erm, thank you? Good to see you too,” Harry replied, confusion making it easier for the lie to slip through his teeth. Did he look so sickly that Ashton knew at first glance where others had missed it, or had Liam confided in him? That surely was a breach in medical confidentiality.

Ashton walked away to greet everyone else, and Harry fully expected for Louis to follow him, but he instead came to him again. It was truly a testament to the kindness of Louis’ heart that he was willing to be alone with him again to check up on him after the shitshow Harry had almost put him through.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, less angry than he probably should.

Harry sputtered as he tried to justify without revealing too much. “I don’t know, I- I just got carried away and-”

“And decide to give off enough scent that no one will be able to buy these dresses?”

“What?” Harry blinked, unsure as to where this was coming from.

Louis crossed his arms and gave him his best unimpressed look. “Come on, we were drowning in it there, it was so prominent I could barely smell Ash while hugging him!” he whisper-yelled to the best of his ability, clearly aware of their potential audience.

“Are you saying I stink?” Harry whispered back, just as outraged.

“Of course not! You just smell very strong and bitter right now and it’s a little distracting, to be quite fair.”

The startled laugh that came out of Harry was entirely a symptom of his offense and none of it due to amusement. It was already quite offensive to refer to someone’s scent so much in a public space, but even more so criticise it thoroughly. However, Louis was not wrong, as Harry finally realised just how much the air smelled of him, almost like he would during his rut when trying to get rid of all the other scents around the room. It made even him a little teary, though Louis’ hand coming to cover his nose made him irrationally mad.

“Well, while we’re asking for accountability, why do you keep lying and agreeing with everything Ashton offers even though it’s clear you hate it?” he snarled, switching to offensive mode.

It was Louis’ turn to become speechless for a few seconds, eyes wide and hands clenching. His mouth twisted uncomfortably as he stuttered out: “I’m not lying! I’m- I’m just reconsidering things.”

“And by reconsidering you mean bowing down to all of his last wishes.” Even as he said it, he knew it was unfair to both of them, as compromise was an important part of each relationship and Ashton was too good to truly impose anything on Louis. But his lack of awareness on what would constitute a happy, successful wedding to Louis, and Louis’ constant silence on his true feelings, were grating on his nerves even from a purely objective perspective. How were they expected to marry if they could not speak openly about something as simple as who would make their wedding wear?

“Okay, knothead, take a step back, will you?” Louis bit back.

Harry and Louis rarely fought, but when they did, it was always ugly. That was what knowing someone so intimately and for so long would do to you, knowing just how to hurt and just how to push back. In Harry’s case, knothead was a word that triggered his extreme feelings of self-hatred and fear he had experienced when first presenting as alpha, though Louis did not know the extent of them. Still, that insult had been one thrown around constantly in his household, on the streets, in television show, always to qualify violent, entitled, abusive alphas, much alike his own father and grandfather.

All of Harry’s nerve-endings were on fire, hackles raised just at the word. Regret immediately flashed across Louis’ face, but he did not back down anyway, keeping his stance firm.

“Do. Not. Call me. That.” Harry enunciated clearly, the most he could currently offer as means to deescalate the situation. They had both crossed a line and it was obvious, but if they both took a breath, they might be able to come out of it mostly unscathed.

Louis had never known when to stop. “Call you what? Knothe-”

“Stop.”

Though not quite his alpha voice yet, the hint of it was enough to freeze Louis on the spot. Harry’s breathing was laboured as he looked at the shocked face of his best friend, torn between clear regret at having taken it too far and surprise at Harry’s reaction.

“Sorry,” Harry breathed out as noises came from the fitting room, the party clearly alerted by the boom of Harry’s voice.

He did not wait to see them, could not face the consequences of his actions when his skin was still so tender and his brain so hyper focused on all the wrong things. He only took the time to grab his coat from the rack before he stepped out, practically running to his car.

The following days were absolutely harrowing. Stuck in a twisted space where he needed sleep more than ever yet could not achieve it for he coughed so much petals he had started making flowers out of them, Harry looked more like a zombie than a still-breathing human. The pain in his chest was low-thrumming but constant, and he found himself thankful he would surely be dead in less than three months because his heating bills would be enough to kill him on the spot otherwise. Never had an alpha been so cold, and if his lack of energy did not prevent him from going out, shame just might.

By a twisted strand of luck, one of the three weddings he had been working on had been called off suddenly following the discovery of a mistress on the bride’s part. Though their situation was quite pitiful, they had still decided to pay Harry for the entirety of his prestation, claiming they might need him once the storm had passed. Harry thought it was quite nice some of the money that should clearly go to couple’s counselling would instead go straight to his pockets and had vowed to find a good replacement for himself for the odd couple.

The second wedding was still going, though twelve months and a good advance on the planning allowed for a few weeks lull before he would have to either go back to them or also find a peer to replace him. He wondered how he may explain it, unsure of the sound of ‘I will sadly be passing by April 20^th and, as such, will not be able to complete this job.’ He was also still trying to find a way to explain to his mother that she would no longer have a son because he had found love where it could not grow and was now reaping what he sowed. Instead, he ignored her calls and pretended to be busy with swimming classes he had not attended in two weeks.

The third wedding, quite obviously, was a sensitive subject. Ashton had sent a message to Harry telling him that Louis was okay and mostly shaken by their fight, making a small mention that he could understand Harry’s predicament yet would rather he possessed some self-control if there was to be another time or Ashton might be the one lacking in that department, which was commendable. Still, he wished Harry a smooth recovery and said that they would be focusing on stuff that did not need his overlooking in the meantime. On their text conversation, there was an unsent text reading ‘you’re the only one obtruding my path to recovery’ underneath the blue thumbs up Ashton had actually received.

The day following the fight, which was now a good four days ago if Harry’s slight attempt to keep up with the passing time was right, Harry had called Liam to discuss it. Specifically, he wanted to ask why the fuck he had not been told that his scent going awry was a part of the symptoms.

“Because it isn’t, Harry,” he had replied simply while munching on his salad. It was far from the most pleasant of sounds, but there were little times they could discuss his situation outside of working hours without Zayn being made aware except for lunch hour, so Harry accepted and simply did not mute during his next coughing fit. No one had ever said a dying man ought to be good and lose his pettiness, and retirement homes surely were a testament to that.

“How do you explain what happened to me then? Unexpected rut? Because that’s a death sentence to me, Liam.”

A sigh on the other side reminded Harry that Liam did not deserve to feel the brunt of his anger when he was nothing but being professional, but the panic was seizing him with each hour passing and the knowledge there was nothing he could do when his entire survival depended on something as fickle as human feelings.

“It’s not an official symptom, but it makes sense; you were probably trying to outscent that person’s partner.”

“Outscent him?” Harry frowned, groaning as he could feel the familiar tickles at the beginning of his throat. By the next hour, it would surely be out, but Harry wished he could just cut his own trachea open and pick it out already.

“Yes, that is a quite common reaction to jealousy, especially in extreme cases like yours. You felt threatened by him and had to find an outlet for those emotions. At least, you didn’t start literally pissing to mark what you believed to be yours,” he finished off with a laugh.

“Who knows, there’s still next time,” Harry indulged him with a roll of his eyes, though he soon went back to gnawing on his lip. “An outlet, you say?”

“Yes. We all need one, and if you’ve been experiencing jealousy for a long time, you surely had one before that just does not work for you anymore.”

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“The gym.”

Indeed, and completely unbeknownst to him before that sudden realisation, Harry had been a fervent visitor of the gym for a reason, especially days following his and the couple’s encounters. Despite the preference he had always had for swimming over mindless work out, the new habit had infiltrated itself in his routine some fifteen months ago. It had never clicked in his mind that he was using working out as a general way to let out his feelings, particularly those of inadequacy and envy in the face of another man; where he would never beat Ashton in height or musical talent, he may in pure muscular stature.

It was disheartening and made for a complicated future, especially as the dizzy spells he was prone to each time he did anything more than sitting up made it clear he could no longer attend the gym, nor the pool as a new space to sweat it out. Instead, he was stuck at home, nursing an illness no one could know about and unfit for social activities nonetheless between his lack of impulse control and unsavoury field growing inside of him.

His conversation had been cut short soon after, with Liam’s worry only serving to increase his panic. It did not matter that it was justified and that he would soon regret spending the last of his relatively fine days holed up in his flat wallowing in self-pity, for he had entered the denial phase of his own grieving. Ignoring until it disappeared was as good of a plan as any, and he was happy Liam – and Niall, who he had not been able to keep out of the loop – showed so much concern for him, but what were words of encouragement to a condemned man?

By pure accident, Harry had found the one temporary cure. Upending his closet so he may find more covers and hope to escape the cold that was now a constant plague on his outer limbs, he had ended up with a pile at the very back of soft, warm clothes he had never needed in the past. He had never truly appreciated the advantage of alpha’s naturally high body heat until now as he was slowly losing it, and as such had these clothes out of habit more than actual necessity.

Habit, because they had only ever been necessary to one person. Louis, in some extremely bad case of omega running low on heat, was almost perpetually cold. Back when they were spending so much time together it seemed the only logical leap would have been to move in with each other, Harry had kept a stack of Louis’ and his own warm clothes for the omega to use when needed. Socks, gloves, jumpers, trackies, and two different plaids had been his saviour on the colder months he spent at Harry’s, though the alpha had been plenty happy to provide his own heat through frequent cuddles.

While the memory of what had been lost in the past two years without his conscious realisation was a painful one, the first whiff of Louis’ scent had been a breath of fresh air Harry no longer knew. The cough that had been building in his throat immediately ceased, instead unblocking the path so the cherry scent may reach his lungs and the rest of his system faster. In a second, his brain reached a state of peace so blissful Harry collapsed on the pile of clothes, further dousing himself in the sweet scent. His reaction to it was almost indecent, yet he indulged in it fully, confident in the privacy of his own home and high on the pain relief it provided. No morphine could beat the power of it, and Harry had soon fallen asleep, right on the floor in the middle of all the fabrics, finally reuniting with peaceful slumber.

Ever since then, Harry had been going everywhere with a particularly strong-smelling sweater that had once belonged to him. Purple, soft, and a little tight on him as he was no longer the fifteen-year-old boy who had bought it, it had been a favourite of Louis’, which was obvious in the strength of the scent around the collar. It was now a favourite of Harry’s, who treated it like his very own teddy bear to cherish. His sanity was hanging on by the same thread that had once been the string Louis munched on, and Harry had found his own safe haven, being careful with his usage of each clothing. It was only a matter of having one or two to keep him safe.

He was in the middle of dozing off, nose pressed to the sweater so the itch in his throat may pass and a stupid program on TV he did not care about, when his phone rang. Though he did not feel quite fit for a spoken conversation then, he still had to check and try, as what little of his livelihood he had left to experience depended on it.

He sat up abruptly and his heart stuttered as Louis’ grimacing face stared at him on his vibrating phone. He almost hung up by accident in his haste, but managed to pick up the phone and have a semi-normal voice by the time he said “Hello?”

“Oh my God, Harry I’m so sorry,” Louis’ voice came out through the crackling receiver, high and panicked. Harry sat up straighter immediately, his own angst and problems at the back of his mind when faced with the possibility of Louis’. “I’ve been feeling so bad about what happened and I was waiting for some time to pass so we may talk about it properly and clear the air between us and, and, I really planned on doing that, give it one more week maybe, but now I’m at the florist because I thought I could do it by myself and there’s so much stuff and I don’t know how weddings go or what the words are and I just, I can’t face this alone, it’s just like high school again.” A gulp of air much too big for his current state could be heard, and before Harry could respond Louis was gone again. “I’m so sorry this is so embarrassing I can’t believe I’m still stuck crying to you like an anxious teen and you can tell me to fuck right off if you want-”

“Louis, stop,” Harry said, this time much kinder than the last. “Do you remember your breathing exercises?” A small hum of agreement through the phone, Harry continued. “Good, that’s great darling, can you do them for me?”

“Yes,” Louis answered, though his shakes could be heard even with this one word.

“Amazing, you are so amazing. Are you at the florist I recommended to you?”

Two breaths passed before he whispered “I am.” Harry’s pride threatened to burst out of his chest.

“Perfect. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Step outside, listen to some music, and do your exercises, alright? I’ll be with you very soon, love, you can relax now.”

“Okay… Thank you, Haz.”

Louis’ voice was incredibly small, much more than it usually was, as if scared Harry would turn his back on him following their fight. Harry did his best effort to clear his throat so it would not sound quite as gritty when he told Louis: “Always, Lou. You know I would do anything for you.”

(Even die so he may be happy without any guilt.)

“I love you, Harry.”

I love you, I love you, I love you.

His heart beat that cadence all the way to Louis.

A little less than twenty minutes later, following a quick dressing up and refreshing of his body, Harry had been able to take Louis in his arms and bring him the rest of the way down from his unstable state. He put an explicit effort into not mindlessly scenting him, while also taking his fill in a way that made him feel dirty yet physically much better. Their emotional distance to one another was obvious as the weight of what had been said and what hadn’t hung over their head, but Harry’s heart refused to acknowledge it as it beat strongly, as if attempting to jump straight at Louis. He almost felt like his old self by the time they stepped inside the shop, where the florist – Sam – immediately recognised him and shook his hand.

Explaining to Sam the general theme of the wedding that the couple had settled on and what flower composition Harry had in turn possibly imagined for it, the tense atmosphere between best friends faded in favour of his prestation as wedding planner. Louis, who was still reeling from the anxious state he had barely left, linked their pinkies together and settled for nodding where he agreed. Harry tightened his hold and tried to suppress his smile as to not raise questions in Sam.

However, as Sam began showing them the various flowers he had as of now and would have in two months, Louis slowly detached himself from Harry and got pulled in the organisation of things. Harry tried to join him, except he felt weak as soon as the first cough escaped him, his condition reeling him back in his useless state so fast embarrassment did not have time to fester in Harry. He could not reasonably ask Louis for another healing hug as he was in the middle of debating the advantages of tulips and neither truth nor a good enough justification could be told, and any clothing with his scent had been forgotten in Harry’s haste to reach him. He was now facing what was building up to be the accumulation of all the repressed coughs from the past few days, the ones he had cowardly escaped in the scent of old cherries but had not disappeared, lying dormant until now. A small, inconspicuous cough every few minutes as they walked the rows of flowers soon turned to a small fit that hurt to swallow down, and then to a big, close to constant one.

When Sam and Louis turned to him after his third rough one in a row, Harry excused himself so he may breathe outside. There, once he was no longer in view of the large windows, he bent in half and coughed to his body’s needs, hard and unrelenting. Whatever was lodged no longer tickled but stung, hard where it slid up and back down. His head pounded after thirty excruciating seconds of non-stop coughing, and he lowered his body so he was sitting on his heels while trying to avoid passing out. Who knew what would be said about him if an ambulance was called and he was to be examined by a doctor.

By the time he stepped back in, both men were obviously in a fervent disagreement. Still, they turned to him with clear concern, though he dismissed it before it could be raised.

“Bad allergies, you know how it is.”

They both furrowed their brows, unconvinced.

“And it’s the allergies that got you so pale?” Louis asked with a bit of sass, though not as bad as he would be if things weren’t so fragile between them.

“What are you, the owner of a PhD now? I’m still a little sick and all the flowers are just making it worse,” he argued with a raised brow, and they both piped down at that.

Sam was the one to bring the conversation back on track as he walked towards Harry with a paper clip in hand. “I’ve been trying to tell him that, with the colour theme and venue they have going, the best choice would be either carnations or ranunculus as the centre piece and then I would build around it as I could, but he is adamant it does not fit.”

“Because it does not!” Louis immediately stomped, and Harry felt like a teacher trying to separate two misbehaving children. “Listen, I don’t care about what should be done, I want this wedding to have a piece of me based uniquely on my choices, and those can work plenty well as filler but they cannot be the main focus.”

To the untrained eye, it would seem that far had gone the previous anxiety he had known, but Harry knew better. He did not know what else Louis had ended up accepting from Ashton instead of following through his own idea just for the sake of his partner’s happiness and attempts at involvement with such a busy schedule, but it must have been weighing down on Louis quite a lot for the last few days, if not weeks. This was not the tantrum of a man who could not handle allowing someone else to show their expertise, but a man’s desperate attempt at holding onto a fragment of what he had so strongly wished for. If someone could understand it, it had to be Harry, who stepped between them and faced Louis.

“Hey, Lou,” he said, voice absolutely shot even when he spoke low, “how about you go and freshen up a little, alright? We will find the perfect flower for you, but you just need to breathe and recentre yourself a little, and that’s totally okay.”

Louis nodded, leaning forward a little bit. Harry was hit by a whiff of cherry and visibly shivered. Louis took a step back with a smile, putting his hand to Harry’s chin and lowering it. The tick in his jaw were mimicked by the warm press of Louis’ fingertips, looking for something Harry did not know about. It seems he found it in Harry’s poor attempt at a grimace, nose scrunching up and nails racking the faint stubble on the alpha’s cheeks as he left him again and walked away. Hate to see him go, love to see him leave.

“So…” Sam began once the door closed behind Louis and Harry already apprehended turning toward him. “Since when have those allergies been going? Because, as far as I recall, you’ve always been quite fine each time you came here.”

Harry barely had time to open his mouth in order to respond that the most violent coughing fit yet took over him, a sensation as if his lungs were shrinking on themselves forcing him to bend over once again. He wheezed between each cough, crying after only ten seconds of them forcibly trying to expulse what had now definitely stuck itself in his throat, and Harry was scared all it would achieve was him throwing up.

His entire body pounded as Sam ran to get something from the back. He felt on the verge of collapsing as the edges of it scraped his throat and the very bottom of his tongue, spasms taking over while he made retching noises. It moved up, the shape of it becoming clearer as his vision grew dark around the edges, all sensations stuck on the path of pain the object left.

Then, it plopped down on the floor, Harry collapsing on all fours right above it. His breaths were hurried and his face streaked with tears, but there were noises coming from both the back room and the WC, so he jumped on his wobbly legs and used his long sleeves as a makeshift tissue. Each pant was a fire going down to his lungs, the only anchor to the real world that prevented him from fainting.

Spots danced in his visions and he bent down again under the pretence of picking up the flower – because it was now a full, pink, lovely flower that was staring at him, mocking and daunting. With a painful gulp, he stood back up as both Sam and Louis reached him at the same time.

“What the fuck was that,” Sam asked, though it was overthrown by Louis’ loud gasp.

“Fuck, yes, that’s perfect! That is exactly what I envisioned and wanted as the central piece of the composition!”

They both looked down at what was sitting in Harry’s palm, one in wonderment and one with dread.

“Cherry blossoms?” Sam pointed out in surprise, clearly knowing he did not have such a flower at this time of year in the shop but deciding not to point it out for the sake of Harry’s already burning cheeks. “That’s an odd choice.”

When Harry got back home two hours later, it was with much more self-hatred than when he had left it, as well as indignation he had had to tame for so long it could only explode. His knowledge that he would have usually taken these ravaging feelings to the gym but now couldn’t only fuelled it, and he took off his clothes with anger on his stomping way to his room.

“Fucking almost died, but that wasn’t enough, you just had to add another layer to it,” he mumbled under his breath nonsensically, talking to some mysterious deity he had taken to blaming for the curse he was currently under.

Though chills raked his body as it made contact with fresh air, it was best for him as he settled underneath his covers, the soft fabric of the plaid a soothing texture against his back, with the purple sweater next to the pillow he slept on and another grey one hidden between the others he had arranged so they surrounded him. A true shield against the cold, though not against his bitter thoughts.

He took an overtly excited voice as he exclaimed “Here! I puked out a bouquet for your wedding! Don’t worry, that’s just part of the Styles formula.” He paid the price for his sarcasm as he coughed again, but soon turned on his stomach so he may take in Louis’ cherry scent with every breath.

By breath two, he no longer had an itch in his throat; five, and his headache had significantly lessened; thirteen, and he was asleep.

Cake tasting, usually, was every couple’s favourite task. Harry had never assisted to one, merely the coordinator and mediator between the engaged couple and the hired bakery.  It was once again one of those funny things he never got to partake in as his job was, after all, to try and take the brunt and stressful parts of the wedding, only to leave the nice things that wouldn’t want to make people divorce in advance.

Sadly, 5 Seconds of Summer had a once in a lifetime opportunity to make it big overseas when a popular American boyband had their scheduled first part break up unexpectedly following incriminating allegations, leading to said popular boyband to contact their agency, hoping they could fill in for the last few days of tour. If it went well, it meant they would be hired for the European leg of it, which might jumpstart their worldwide career from ‘that band everyone knew the one song of from YouTube’ to ‘well known and renown 5 Seconds of Summer’.

Unfortunately, with Harry’s drastic cut down on work time and Louis having gone to care for the little ones following a work accident for Mark that bound him to bed for two weeks, March was already reaching its end and the wedding planning meetings had been postponed many times. They were extremely behind, and if they did not order now, Harry would have to pull strings he didn’t have so they may have all the food ready for that date. Even Ashton did not have a miracle up his sleeve for that one.

When faced with this problem, it was decided that Louis and Harry would go and do the cake tasting themselves. The decision was mostly an offer by Ashton that Louis jumped on, clearly feeling the urgency very personally, and Harry had reluctantly accepted to tag along. While things with Louis had settled back to how they usually were, the weight of the secret Harry was keeping made it hard to spend time alone with him. Louis had tried to confront him about it, but Harry’s body was a testament to the deterioration of his health, which made everyone go way easier on him than they usually would. They did not ask questions, probably sensing that Harry would not talk about it, but he could feel each of their worried gaze and gentle touch.

Even Liam had invited Harry to sleep the night at theirs a few times, much to Zayn’s surprise. Harry had been grateful but refused, not knowing how he may explain it to Zayn if he woke up to find Harry laying with petals around him that should not be there.

Niall had been his main support, knowing enough to bring him frequent food and company. He also forced Harry on walks, stating that his dizziness would not be helped by the atrophy of his muscles. Infuriatingly, he had been right, which was what made him able to come aid Louis on a sunny afternoon, in a small bakery Louis’ cousin had highly recommended.

To Harry’s pleasant surprise, it lived up to the expectation in his head. The place was charming and the chef, though a little haughty at first sight, had been more than cordial and had a wide array of interesting flavours. While they were waiting for them all to arrive, Louis had taken to telling Harry all about what Doris and Ernest were up to, though he had already been sent pictures and videos. One he hadn’t seen, however, was the outfit they had made for them specifically as the ring bearers.

“They are so adorable, I want to eat them up,” Harry cooed, wishing he would get to hold them once more.

“We have plenty of cake for you to set your teeth into instead, alpha,” Louis replied as he pocketed his phone and Harry froze. Though the word had been meant in a purely teasing manner, almost insulting, he could not help the effect it had on him, the rush it brought to his head. Louis sensed it too, must have, or he would not have turned to him with that smirk he licked while raising his eyebrows.

Harry could not respond before the chef came in, once again cut off when sharing a moment with Louis. It was why he tended to invite him in his apartment, but the current state of it did not allow for much guests, thus he had to accept this frequent cockblocking of sorts. He decided to find refuge in food.

The first cake was good, with white chocolate and raspberries, but not stellar. Both Louis and Harry seemed to agree immediately, a single glance sufficing to communicate their shared distaste, so sweet they had enough after only two bites each. Telling the baker as much, he was quick to put another plate, this time milder, mostly vanilla with a hint of orange. Louis had had the idea of them feeding it to each other, which was half arousing and half absolutely ridiculous. The moment of complicity did not make the cake raise much in the ranks, and Louis said it was a maybe, perhaps as a second piece to consider.

The third one was interesting. It was a dark brown, the cream between layers almost black, and it immediately appealed to Harry. On top of it stood a glazed over cherry that Louis took between his fingers and brought to Harry’s lips. He stuck his tongue out, pulling it in in a way he hoped was enticing. Judging by the bob of Louis’ Adam apple, Harry was fairly confident the shape of his lips around the red cherry was awakening memories inside of Louis.

“Hmm.” He bit down on it, appreciating that the centre had been taken out already, and leaned closer to Louis’ pink face. “Tastes just like you, omega.”

Louis turned beet red at that, aware of how true those words were after Harry had once eaten him out for a full hour before spitting in Louis’ mouth, asking him to appreciate the sweet taste of cherries. His mind must have been stuck somewhere in that room, staring at Harry as he swallowed what had been given to him, acting like a good little bitch, his eyes wide and glassy just like they had been then.

The chef clearing his throat brought them back to the present, and Harry bit down a smile as the smell of Louis’ slick slightly permeated the air. Urged to move on by the unfortunate bystander, they took a bite of the cake that was absolutely delicious, both moaning out in delight.

“Ah!” the chef said then, clearly pleased by their reactions. “I knew this one you would like, it is the perfect combination of you.”

“Hm?” Louis hummed instead of wording his question like a polite person, too busy taking two more pieces.

“Cherry and dark chocolate, just like you two together,” Mr Gilbert explained as if it were obvious and they were a little slow. “The couple’s mixed scents are always the winner, but it’s sadly not always possible.”

“Oh, hm,” Harry started, ready to explain that, while the cake tasted incredible, there was a slight misunderstanding.

Louis covered his hand with his own and said: “I can only assume; we are just very lucky. We would still like to give the other ones a try.”

That ought to shut Harry up.

The fourth cake, which might have been good under other circumstances, fell flat after their experience with the previous one, its rich taste lingering in their mouth. Harry could not even pretend to guess what it was, though he assumed lemon was involved by smell alone – his nose was still too attuned to the drop of slick that must be currently drying in Louis’ underwear to be of much use anyway.

The fifth one was a very strong no. Louis had never been able to appreciate the taste of coconut, which was the main ingredient for this airy, yellow cake. Harry was arguing with him for the sake of it, always one to make fun of Louis for his picky tastebuds that were mostly influenced by what was appealing to the general public and what wasn’t. Mr Gilbert, their trusted baker, seemed to have enough of their childish antics as he got up to bring them more cakes to taste.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Louis turned to Harry and whispered: “Come on, be honest, this tastes like shite.”

“Louis! You are so inconsiderate!” Harry replied, posh accent and shrill voice on full display. Louis shushed him while laughing, already looking red in the face, so Harry continued. “Come on, that is an absolute masterpiece,” he made a show of bringing his face down as he acted all pedantic, “you know it from that first whiff, the sweet aroma of-ungh.”

Louis’ cackles broke free as he pushed a little more on the back of Harry’s head, making it so cream was covering the entire lower half of his face. He finally let if free, letting Harry breathe again with a sputter that made crumbs fly everywhere, worsening Louis’ bad case of laugh. Harry, on his part, looked at him with the betrayal of Caesar looking at Brutus, much to Louis’ added amusement.

“You’ve got a, a, a li-ittle something,” he tried to say anyway, barely calming down enough to touch the side of his mouth, “right there, a little food. You should learn, you should learn to eat properly.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry played along finally, leaning forward. “Could you be more specific, maybe?”

“Right here.” Louis’ hand was warm where it fitted itself along the edges of his jawline, thumb pressing on the side of his mouth. It was a touch he was no longer familiar with, electricity running through his body as he stared in the depth of blue. Though mirth was still floating between them, they were no longer laughing, merely observing each other in silence.

Harry leaned his head down, prompted by the slightest twitch in Louis’ palm, almost like he had wanted to pull him in but contained himself before doing it. He was not being subtle either, staring at his lips, rubbing his thumb in the mess he had made. Harry was so sure, then, feeling the connection like he had back when they were fifteen, this inevitable pull that affected both of them once stripped from all the useless layers of the world. Two souls who would always claw their way out so they could reach one another, damned the consequences.

He was so sure, then, that his love was shared. He forgot everything, their name and location and the state of their life, all of it in favour of giving in to the one he belonged to. This knowledge went beyond the banalities of life, and something in Louis’ eyes screamed that he felt it too, didn’t care for them no more.

He was so sure, and then his chest seized painfully, giving him just enough time to cough in the crook of his arm instead of straight in Louis’ face. As the cream on his face stained his blue jumper and a petal fought its way out of him, Harry was brought back to reality.

What he believed to have seen in Louis’ eyes, hear in his sighs, feel in his heartbeat – none of it mattered. His own body was a constant proof of the painful truth, and no amount of Louis rubbing his back in comfort would change it. Those feelings were set in stone, his end inevitable, and his foolish hope of an unexpected turn of event deadly. He could no longer push back against it.

“Are you alright?” Louis asked as soon as Harry stopped coughing. Harry took in the question, the bittersweet taste of acceptance heavy on his tongue, and looked up at Louis, ready to be more open than ever now.

“Not really, but much better now. Don’t worry, it’s not your fault.”

Louis let out an awkward laugh that soon fell flat, hand still on Harry’s back by the time the chef came back.

It came as no surprise that they chose the dark chocolate and cherry one, though joy did not seize Harry’s heart like it should have. More, it felt like another piece of him, of them, he had left to be taken by Ashton and Louis, so they may share and feast upon the remnants of what had once been all he had held.

A mere three weeks later, Harry stood in a suit much too big in the beautifully decorated ballroom of the castle. A hundred round tables had been arranged all throughout the room, sporting their own intricate flower bouquets while the old chandeliers bathed them in a soft light. The flower arrangements had been placed strategically around the room and on the statues, done so in a way it would not look to be too much but instead like the most beautiful beginning of spring, filled with white and pale pink. The cherry blossom in Harry’s pocket had not been from the florist but instead came straight from his mouth, having been vomited only earlier in the day.

His hands were shaking as they held onto the glass of sparkling water they had been served instead of the champagne that would be tomorrow. Not that Harry would ever taste it, the first symptoms of rut already showing as he heavily sweated in his clothes. Liam, who sat at the table next to him, sent him wary looks every ten minutes. Thankfully, he had prescribed him pills that would push the true beginning of the rut a day, enough time so he might undergo his operation with as little risks of complications as possible when it came to a very first in the history of medicine. Unbeknownst to the kind doctor that had hugged him tight earlier in the day when they had met, Harry would not go forward with the promise he had made, had cancelled the appointment the very next day it had been made.

Indeed, Liam had informed him that numerous studies made by a select few of searchers who had dedicated time and energy into the mysterious hanahaki disease concluded that the only solution would be to take out the problem physically. While feelings could not be controlled as such – despite poor experiences involving lobotomy and electro-therapy – it had been theorised that to extract the root of the flowers from the lungs could work as a way to stop the illness from spreading and, hopefully, allow the lungs and other affected organs to recover from the perpetual assault with time. The recovery process would be kept a close eye on, as the extraction had been attempted once with positive short-term results, but medicine in the late 70s was such that the lungs eventually collapsed on themselves as the branches withered and died inside, no existing technology being able to help prevent it.

The only negative side effect that had been noted was the complete erasure of the loved one from the patient’s mind, memories gone with every feeling accompanying that person. Even when faced with their person, the patient had not felt the slightest inclination or recognition, staring at them like a stranger. That, above all else, had made it impossible for Harry to take such a decision. To live without Louis was unfathomable, and he had an innate knowledge of his alpha’s disappearance were he to get rid of Louis from his mind. After enduring a slow but sure decline in health straight into physical death, he knew himself to be able to bear it. Accepting fatality had been easier than the emotional pain of losing Louis, even if he would not realise it in his state – but it was then not so much a choice than a foregone conclusion.

As such, Harry was able to appreciate as Louis and Ashton greeted every guest in the room that came to talk to them, looking like actual royalty. They had gone with more traditional suits so their actual ones would be a surprise tomorrow, yet they still looked radiant. Louis, in particular, had a glow to him Harry had never seen before. It may have twisted his heart, though Harry no longer knew the effects of his feelings upon his body as chest pains were his constant nowadays.

Indeed, it would be a beautiful wedding, perhaps Harry’s most beautiful work. It felt like a good chapter to end with, if there was no tomorrow, and seeing Louis’ happy smile made it all worth it. When their eyes would meet over the shoulder of a friend they had once shared at uni, Louis would always smile so kindly, gratitude tainted by worry, and Harry would simply try to show him all his love in the curve of his lips and the crinkles by his eyes. They all belonged to him, anyway, all he was and all he had ever been.

There was only one certitude in Harry’s life as of then. No matter what was to happen tomorrow, this would be the last time he would have this, the last time he would look at Louis’ face and feel this rush of warmth coursing through his body, this almost violent urge to take him in his arms and tighten his hold until they may be one, be held inside his ribcage and wrap around his heart until its shape was his own.

Sadly, such words could not be spoken quite so publicly, ones for nights surrounded by darkness and tenderness. Instead, by the time he had to get up and pretend to be okay for all of the one-point-five minutes of his speech, what he would say was much different than the meaning everyone would infer it.

“As Louis’ best man decided to keep his speech a secret until the actual day of the wedding, I have been hired to say some kind words about these two cunts as the next best choice.” Everyone laughed, including Ashton’s grandma, so Harry continued in his slow drawl, timing his breaks perfectly so he may avoid another coughing fit. “A heart-breaking fact about me is that I actually made them meet, and that without me we would not be here tonight, drinking sparkling water, eating low-grade petits fours, and listening to me drawl on and on. Unfortunately, we are, and I have less than a minute left to tell all of you how happy we should be, on this day, as we are witnessing true love and all its successes. As someone who has been in Louis’ life for so long we could have set off our first kid to secondary school by now, I can assure you that I have never seen him happier – which hurts to say as his official favourite curly-haired man; and I have heard from trusted sources that Ashton has been happily residing on cloud nine for the last two years just as well, as anyone would if they were half as lucky as the man. Even throughout the last two months, I have been the prime viewer of their love at work, always done with so much attention and devotion to one another it would be a crime for them not to end up together. As such, and because none of us are criminals here I believe, we should all raise a toast to that beautiful couple and rejoice in that we may never see them apart.”

Though haphazardly done only twenty minutes before the rehearsal, everyone laughed and raised a toast with him in the couple’s name. Harry sat back down and tried to focus on the bubbles popping in his mouth as to distract himself from the pain in his throat from all the talking he had just done.

“Well, Haz,” -he raised his eyes, seeing Louis had taken the microphone too and was staring right at him- “thank you for that speech, and for all your help in making this wedding as beautiful as it is right now, and for being the best alpha in the world and the best person I could have ever asked to be by my side for all these years. No mop of curls will ever come close to meaning as yours do to me, but Ashton said he’s fine with it.”

And Harry’s heart sang for a treacherous second, but Louis was saying this to him yet sitting back down next to another man, kissing him on the cheek and playing with his curls, like what meant the world to Harry could be nothing but vapid words from the other man.

It did not matter anymore, he reminded himself as he smiled at the couple who signed ‘thank you’ in his direction. It did not matter, and perhaps it never had. He pulled out the flower from his pocket, playing with it and wondering if anyone looked long enough to notice the splatters of red on its pink, fragile petals.