Archive of Our Own

Louis is livid.

He has never been this mad before—not when Garrett Blakeman shoved him off the swings in second grade, not when his best friend, Patrick, ditched him just because he presented as an omega, not even when his girlfriend of two years dumped him for being too ‘flamboyant’, as she so kindly put it.

No, this—this—tops all of that.

He’s mid-stretch with Leigh-Anne, their usual pre-practice routine grounding him, when Zayn comes sprinting across the field, panting like he just ran a marathon. His face is twisted in anger, his whole body thrumming with something wrong.

“Did you guys hear?” Zayn demands, barely able to catch his breath.

Louis frowns, looking between his teammates, his gut already clenching. “Hear what?”

“They’re cutting the team.”

Louis feels the words hit him, like a punch straight to the chest. His whole body goes rigid. His brain stalls, trying to make sense of what Zayn just said because there’s no way—no way—he heard that right.

“What?!” he shouts, his voice cracking, but he doesn’t care. His heart free-falls into his stomach. His hands tremble as he clenches them into fists. This isn’t just bad news. This isn’t just unfair. This is—this is his life.

Soccer is everything. Every early morning practice, every sore muscle, every sacrifice he’s made—it’s all been for this. And now, just like that, it’s gone?

“The school says they don’t have the budget to keep the omega team,” Zayn explains, his voice tight, like he’s barely holding it together himself.

Louis hears a buzzing in his ears. He looks around at his teammates, at the devastated expressions mirroring his own, and something hot flares in his chest.

“They can’t just do that!” he shouts, voice raw with rage. “They have the budget for an alpha-beta team but not an omega one? That’s bullshit!”

“It is bullshit,” Leigh-Anne agrees, crossing her arms. “But what can we do?”

Louis’ chest heaves. What can we do? That’s the question, isn’t it? But his brain is short-circuiting, running through options he already knows won’t work. Arguing with the school board? Pointless. They don’t give a shit about students—especially omega students. They made their decision, and nothing Louis says will change it.

But giving up?

Absolutely fucking not.

A wild, reckless idea forms in his head, and it’s the only logical solution he can think of. “Come on,” he says, voice sharp, his whole body vibrating with adrenaline. “Follow me.”

His teammates hesitate for only a second before trailing after him as he marches toward the other side of the field, where the alpha-beta team is practicing.

His blood boils as he watches them. They get everything—new uniforms, new equipment, extra funding—while the omega team gets tossed aside like an afterthought. Like they don’t matter. Like he doesn’t matter.

He spots Coach Denman standing on the sidelines, barking orders at his players.

“Come on, Jarvis, pick it up!” Denman bellows.

Louis doesn’t wait. He storms up to him, his fury making him bold. The coach barely spares him a glance.

“Sorry to hear about the team, omegas.”

Louis sees red. The casual way Denman says it, like he’s talking about bad weather instead of ripping away something Louis has bled for, makes his skin prickle with rage.

“Yeah, me too,” he says, voice tight. But he stands his ground, glaring at the coach, daring him to his way.

Denman sighs, finally turning to face him. “What, Tomlinson? You know if there was anything I could do, I would.”

The lie is so blatant Louis wants to laugh. Instead, he tilts his chin up. “Yeah? Then let us try out for the alpha-beta team.”

Denman laughs. Not just a chuckle—a full-bodied, you’ve got to be kidding me kind of laugh.

Louis doesn’t flinch. He just waits.

Eventually, Denman realizes Louis is dead serious. His laughter fades.

“You can’t be serious,” the coach says flatly. “There’s no way I’m letting omegas on my team.”

“And why not?” Louis demands, crossing his arms, his stance daring the coach to come up with an excuse that isn’t utter bullshit.

Denman pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, Tomlinson, the school year starts in a week, and we’ve got a big game against Illyria right after that. We can’t afford to lose.”

“You won’t lose,” Louis says firmly. “If you just give us a chance, we’ll prove it.” He tilts his head slightly, softens his expression—playing into his omega nature, hoping instinct will sway Denman where logic won’t.

Before the coach can reply, Jake—Louis’ on-again, off-again boyfriend—strides over, his teammates following.

“Hey, Lou,” Jake says smoothly. “What’s going on, Coach?”

Louis starts to answer, to tell him about the injustice happening right in front of them, but Denman speaks first.

“The omegas want to try out for the alpha-beta team.”

Laughter explodes around them.

Including Jake.

And that is what finally cracks something in Louis’ chest.

He shouldn’t be surprised. He should’ve expected it. But it still stings.

Louis glares at him. “This is a joke to you?”

Jake’s smirk deepens. “I’m sorry, babe, it’s hard to take something like that seriously.”

Coach Denman huffs and interjects, “I feel for you all but as good as you omegas might be, you just aren’t as fast or strong as alphas and betas.” He shrugs. “It’s just basic biology.”

Louis rolls his eyes. He’s heard this before. But still, he turns to Jake, searching for something—anything—that might resemble decency.

“You’re the captain,” he says. “What do you think?”

Jake shrugs. “I think Coach is exactly right. Omegas aren’t on the same level as us.”

Louis scoffs. “Really? Because the other night, you told me I could play circles around your teammates. What happened to that?”

The surrounding alphas and betas immediately groan. “Heeeeyyy!”

Jake waves a hand. “I never said that.”

Louis’ jaw drops. “You’re actually gonna lie to my face? Gaslight me?”

Jake sighs, like somehow Louis is the problem. “You’re not joining our team, Louis. No more soccer for you omegas. It’s over.”

Louis takes a breath. Then he smiles—a sharp, saccharine thing. “Well, looks like so are we. Good luck finding an omega to help you through your rut with only two days’ notice.”

Jake blinks, stunned, as his teammates erupt into ‘ooohhhs’.

“Come on, baby, we can work this out!” Jake calls after him.

Louis ignores him.

His stomach churns—not over Jake. That asshole is irrelevant. 

But soccer?

Soccer is everything.

And he refuses to let this be the end.

***

Louis trudges up the walkway of his house, headphones in, hood up, trying to drown out the absolute shitshow that was today. But no amount of music can stop his mind from replaying the events over and over. The omega team is gone. His future is gone. And no one gives a fuck.

He doesn’t get a second to breathe before an annoyingly shrill voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Hello? Levi? I’m talking to you!”

Louis barely has time to react before a hand grabs his shoulder and whips him around. He tugs out one earbud, already bracing himself.

And—ugh. It’s Natalie. His idiot twin’s insufferable girlfriend.

She wrinkles her nose when she sees his face. “Gross. I thought you were Levi.”

Louis deadpans. “Maybe if you actually put that beta nose of yours to use, you’d realize I smell nothing like my brother.”

Natalie scoffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “It’s not my fault you two look freakishly alike. And you—” She eyes him up and down with a sneer. “You don’t act like a proper omega.”

Louis gives her his sweetest smile. “And the only thing you act like, Natalie, is a proper bitch.”

Her face reddens. “Just tell your stupid alpha brother to call me. Or else.”

“Oooh, or else,” Louis mock-gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “Can’t wait to see what terrifying wrath you unleash.”

Natalie huffs, clearly done with him, which is exactly what he wants. He turns on his heel, done with her too.

Unfortunately, he walks straight into his next nightmare interaction.

The moment he steps inside, his mom’s face lights up. “Louis! I’m glad you’re home—I’ve got something to show you!”

Before he can protest, she covers his eyes with her hands and starts leading him forward.

Louis sighs deeply. “If you’ve arranged some marriage with a rich alpha, I swear to God, I will run away.”

She laughs, but there’s a concerning edge to it. “Nothing like that, darling… yet.”

Louis freezes. “That was a joke, right?”

She doesn’t answer.

Before he can pry further, she uncovers his eyes with an excited, “Surprise!”

Louis blinks. And then grimaces.

Right in front of him is a black fitted turtleneck with a matching leather collar—exactly like the one she wears every day.

Louis stares at it, stomach churning. “What the hell is that?”

“Language!” his mom scolds, but her smile doesn’t waver. She gestures to the outfit as if it’s a treasure. “You’ll need this if you ever want to join The Society.”

Louis groans loudly. The Brooks Omega Society.

A term he’s suffered hearing about since the day he presented. A prestigious, exclusive group of elite omegas who do fuck all except wear ridiculous outfits, sip tea, and act like obedient little dolls for their alphas.

His mom thinks it’s an honor. Louis thinks it’s a nightmare.

“Mom,” he starts, pinching the bridge of his nose, “if you want to cover your neck like a nun and wear a collar like a house pet, be my guest. But I’m not a damn dog, and if an alpha can’t handle seeing my bare neck, then he’s not the kind of alpha I want to be around.”

His mom gasps, scandalized. “Louis—”

“Bye, mom.” He spins on his heel, stomping up the stairs before she can argue.

He loves her—really—but she’s too much sometimes. Always trying to shove him into her perfect little omega mold, as if he exists just to keep some ridiculous family tradition alive.

He walks down the hallway, still fuming, until he notices Levi’s door is open.

Curious, he shrugs and walks in, flopping onto his twin’s bed.

“Your beta bitch mistook me for you outside,” he announces, grabbing his soccer ball and tossing it in the air. “She says to call her.”

Levi, his fraternal alpha twin, doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Louis snorts. “Why do you even date her if she’s literally the worst?”

Levi shrugs. “Keeps my dick wet.”

Louis gags. “Jesus. You’re disgusting.”

He turns his head to glare at Levi—and that’s when he notices the half-packed bag sitting on the floor. His brows furrow.

“Where are you going?”

“New York.” Levi says it so casually, like he’s talking about popping to the store.

Louis bolts upright. “What for?!”

“My band,” Levi says, shoving another shirt into his bag. “We got booked for a festival. I’m not missing my shot.”

Louis stares at him, stunned. “You’re just—going?”

Levi huffs. “Yeah, Lou. I am.”

Louis gapes. “And what about mom and Dad? What about Illyria?”

Levi had gotten expelled from Whitfield Prep for smoking weed on campus. Louis smokes too, but he has enough sense not to do it at school. Mom had been furious, but she still coughed up the money to enroll Levi at Illyria, a posh boarding school twenty minutes north of them.

And now he’s just ditching it?

“About that…” Levi grins, closing his bag. “Can you be a good little omega and cover for me?”

Louis blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Just tell mom that I’m staying at dad’s and tell dad that I’m staying at mom’s. Call Illyria, pretend to be mom, and say I had a family emergency or something.” Levi claps a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “It’ll only be a few weeks.”

Louis stares at him before letting out a laugh.

Levi just grins.

“You’re fucking delusional if you think I’m lying to mom for you,” Louis says, shaking his head. “You do realize she’s obsessed with your education, right?”

“She’ll never know.” Levi smirks. “Come on, Lou. Help a brother out.”

Louis groans, flopping back on the bed. “You owe me so fucking much for this.”

Levi laughs, zipping up his bag and throwing it over his shoulder. “You’re the best, baby bro.”

Louis flips him off as the alpha hops out the window and then he’s gone.

He barely has time to relax before his mom’s voice cuts through the room.

“What are you doing in your brother’s room? Is he here? I need to talk to him.”

Louis glances up from the bed, keeping his face carefully neutral. “Just grabbing something. He’s not here. He’s staying with Dad,” he lies easily.

His mom pouts. “Pity.”

For a second, Louis thinks he’s in the clear. But then, her eyes light up, and—fuck—she pulls that damn collar from behind her back.

“How about you just get used to the collar for now?” she suggests brightly. “We can work up to both later!”

Louis stares at her, deadpan. “Mom, I would rather stick needles in my eyes than wear that thing.”

She huffs, crossing her arms. “Honestly, you may as well have been born your brother’s identical alpha twin, not his fraternal omega one. You look just alike, and you act just like him.”

Before Louis can argue, she turns on her heel and leaves, clearly exasperated.

But her words stick.

Louis frowns, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling.

You may as well have been born an alpha.

People have always said that about him and Levi. That it’s so strange how they ended up with different secondaries when they look so damn similar. That Louis is too aggressive, too bold, too much like an alpha to be a real omega.

And normally, it pisses him off.

But now? An idea starts forming.

He may not have a place on a team at Whitfield. But there’s an empty slot at Illyria.

A slow, smug grin spreads across his face.

It’s perfect.

He can take Levi’s place. Play for Illyria’s soccer team while his brother is off chasing his band dreams. Sure, he’ll have to cover up his omega identity. But it shouldn’t be that hard to pass as an alpha.

And, honestly?

It’s the perfect way to prove his point.

To show Coach Denman, show Jake, show every damn alpha and beta who doubted him—

That Louis Tomlinson isn’t just some omega to be overlooked.

That he’s better than all of them.

That he belongs on the field.

***

Before Louis can pull off his plan, he needs help. Specifically, help from someone he knows he can count on—someone who’s always had his back.

“No. Absolutely not.”

Louis pouts. “Please, Liam. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Liam crosses his arms, unimpressed. “Louis, this is insane. You want me to help you be more ‘alpha-like’—whatever the hell that means—just so you can impersonate your brother, pose as an alpha, and play on Illyria’s soccer team?” He rubs his temples like just saying it out loud gives him a headache.

Louis leans forward, hopeful. “Yeah, basically.”

“Oh, come on, Liam,” Leigh-Anne chimes in from his left. “It’s not that crazy.”

Louis knew Liam would need extra convincing, so he brought Leigh-Anne and Zayn as backup. At first, they weren’t entirely sold on the idea either, but the moment Louis painted the picture—Coach Denman’s face when he finds out, Jake’s humiliation, proving that omegas belong on the field—they were all in.

Now, he just needs Liam.

And lucky for Louis, he knows exactly how to get what he wants.

He nudges Zayn, a silent cue.

Zayn catches on instantly, blinking up at Liam with those wide, dark eyes, baring just the slightest bit of his throat.

“Come on, Liam,” he says softly, lashes fluttering. “It would really mean a lot to Louis. And… it would mean a lot to me.”

Louis has to fight back his smirk. He knows damn well that Liam has a weak spot for Zayn. The alpha has helped him through his heats a few times, and he’s been smitten ever since. Zayn, ever focused on soccer and school, has refused to make things official, but Louis knows his best friend feels something for Liam.

And right now? He’s weaponizing it.

It works like a charm.

Liam melts, visibly struggling before he lets out a heavy sigh.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “I’ll help.”

Louis, Leigh-Anne, and Zayn all cheer—as quietly as possible in the public library—high-fiving like they just won a championship.

Liam glares at them. “But,” he warns, holding up a finger, “I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I’m not sure how to make you more… alpha-like.”

Louis shrugs. “Well, what exactly makes me omega-like?”

Liam hesitates, clearly trying to phrase his words carefully. “Uh… well, for starters, your smell.”

“I’ll get scent neutralizers,” Louis says easily. “What else?”

Liam shifts uncomfortably. “Your heats?”

“Not due for another month. Next?”

Liam sighs, looking him over. “Visually? You and Levi might look alike, but… your cheekbones sit higher, so your face looks softer. Prettier, I guess.” His ears turn red.

Louis raises a brow. “Flattering. What else?”

“Well… your body type,” Liam says, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’re curvier. And, I hate to say it, but… no alpha has an ass like you do.”

Leigh-Anne snorts, while Zayn full-on cackles.

Louis just grins. “Point taken. But I can wear baggy clothes to hide that.”

Liam shakes his head. “There’s also your mannerisms—how you move, how you act.”

Louis flips open a notebook. “Okay, go ahead.”

Liam rolls his eyes but obliges. “Tip number one—alphas don’t get all giddy with their friends over good news like you three just did.”

Louis makes a show of rolling his eyes as he writes it down.

“Tip number two,” Liam continues. “Confidence is key. Alphas don’t get flustered—”

“Says the alpha who just turned beet red talking about my curves and cheekbones,” Louis cuts in.

Liam glares. “Alphas don’t get flustered in everyday life. And especially not when talking to omegas, betas, or other alphas. You need to be calm, cool, and collected.”

Louis jots it down. “Got it. Next?”

Liam takes a deep breath, clearly regretting agreeing to this.

“Tip number three,” he says slowly, “you’re gonna have to carry yourself like you have a knot in your pants.”

Louis bursts out laughing. “What the hell does that mean?”

Liam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Physically and metaphorically. Alphas—uh, you know—readjust more often. We sit with a wider stance because, well—”

“Because you have bigger dicks and balls than omegas?” Louis supplies helpfully.

Liam groans, rubbing his face. “Yes. But also, you need to carry yourself like an alpha. The confidence thing. Walk like you own the room.”

Louis grins, scrawling it down. “Anything else?”

Liam gives him a long, exhausted look.

“This is gonna be a long fucking night,” he mutters.

***

Liam had given Louis plenty of useful advice, but now it was time for the real test—seeing if he could actually apply any of it.

The next day, Louis and Zayn meet at Liam’s house, hanging out in the alpha’s basement.

The moment Louis steps inside, he grimaces, nose scrunching up. “Liam, it fucking reeks in here. Can’t you crack a window or something?”

Liam rolls his eyes. “It’s a basement, dumbass. No real windows. And anyway, you need to get used to being surrounded by alpha scent. That’s what you’ll be dealing with at Illyria.”

Louis sighs, waving a hand in front of his face. “I guess you’re right. Alright, what’s my first test?”

Liam smirks. “Sit like an alpha.”

Louis scoffs. Easy. He’s spent his entire life around his twin brother. He can mimic him in his sleep.

He throws himself down onto the couch dramatically, sprawling out like he owns the place. He widens his legs obscenely, making a big show of readjusting his crotch like he’s lugging around the biggest, most cumbersome cock in existence.

Liam raises an eyebrow, while Zayn snorts.

“I give it an A-plus,” Zayn says, grinning. “You look like every knothead that’s ever hit on me at a party.”

Liam scowls at that, clearly not wanting to picture other alphas flirting with Zayn.

“Alright,” he says. “Next test. Say I’m telling you about some omega I scored with last night. How do you respond?”

Louis lets out a cocky smirk, leaning back. “Liam, you sly dog. Did you get pussy or a wet ass? ’Cause I haven’t had a wet ass on my knot in too long.”

Liam blinks. “Wow. That was… scarily accurate.”

Zayn, however, gives them both a look. “Is this what all alphas are? Sexist, omega-degrading pigs?”

Liam shakes his head quickly. “No, not in the slightest. I’m not. But Louis has to be ready for anything, especially around a bunch of young alphas in tight quarters.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, while Louis just shrugs. He doesn’t like acting like some knot-for-brains alpha, but if it gets him closer to his dream—if it proves those Whitfield bastards wrong—then so be it.

“Alright, last test,” Liam says. “Pick up Zayn.”

Louis frowns. “Like… physically? ’Cause I don’t think I can fake having alpha strength.”

Liam sighs. “No, doofus. Pretend Zayn’s an omega at a party that caught your eye. How would you get him to go home with you?”

Louis turns to Zayn, who’s perched on the couch, looking thoroughly amused.

He licks his lips, shifting closer. “Hey. Cool party, right?”

Zayn plays along, pretending to sip from an imaginary Solo cup. “It’s alright.”

Louis lets out a low chuckle. “Yeah, I get it. Not really my scene either. We could get out of here. My dorm’s just around the corner.”

Zayn tilts his head, smirking. “And why would I go home with an alpha I just met?”

Louis leans in, voice dropping into something slow, smooth.

“Because a pretty little thing like you doesn’t come to a party like this unless he’s looking to get his ass knotted over and over until the sun comes up.”

Zayn’s breath hitches. His mouth parts slightly, his pupils dilating.

Louis pulls back and smirks, smug when he catches the faint scent of slick in the air.

“I’m so good at being an alpha,” he boasts, turning to Liam, “that I got Zayn wet from just a pretend scenario.”

Liam’s entire face flushes, because—yeah. He can smell it too.

Zayn blinks rapidly, snapping himself out of whatever trance he’d fallen into, and grumbles, “Shut up.”

Liam clears his throat, visibly trying to reset. “Well… I think you’re ready. Except for one thing.”

Louis perks up. “What? What is it?”

Liam gestures vaguely. “Your features. Like I said before, you’re basically the poster child for what a male omega looks like. How are you gonna fool people when your face screams omega?”

Louis just grins. “Don’t worry. I’ve got that covered.”

***

“Louis, you need to pay attention if you’re going to pull this off at Illyria.”

Louis is trying. Really. But makeup has never been something he’s cared about, and he has zero interest in it now. Still, he forces himself to refocus—his cover cannot be blown.

Leigh-Anne holds up a compact. “This is a contour powder. You’ll take a little bit of it on a brush and lightly sweep it from the top of your ear down to the middle of your cheek.”

Louis watches as she demonstrates, the soft bristles gliding against his skin. “And what exactly does this do again?”

“Look,” she says, gesturing toward the mirror.

He leans in, eyes narrowing. The powder creates a subtle shadow, lowering the appearance of his cheekbones. It makes his face look more like Levi’s—less delicate, less omega.

“Oh, shit,” Louis mutters. “It actually works.”

Leigh-Anne smirks. “Told you. Now, the only other thing you need to do is run the same powder along your jawline. It’ll make it look sharper, more alpha-like. But less is more, so don’t go overboard.”

“Got it,” Louis says, committing it to memory.

She studies his face for a moment, then adds, “You could also grow out your facial hair if you can. A little scruff will make you look more masculine.”

Louis grins. He’s nervous but excited. He’s about to play on a team that actually matters. A team that takes soccer seriously. And when he destroys Whitfield on the field, he’ll get to rub it right in his ex’s stupid face.

This is happening.

***

Louis had been hoping to avoid his mom altogether—at least until he was safely at Illyria—but, of course, she catches him just as he’s trying to sneak out.

“Louis! Where do you think you’re going?”

He winces, slowly turning to face her. She’s standing with her hands on her hips, a scowl etched onto her face.

“I’m going to Dad’s for a couple weeks,” he says, trying to stay casual. “You know how much trouble he and Levi get up to when it’s just the two of them.”

But his mother isn’t buying it.

“No, no, no. You’re staying right here. I haven’t gotten to spend any time with my baby boy.”

“Mom—”

“No buts,” she says firmly.

Louis clenches his jaw. He can’t let her stop him—not now. So, he pulls out the one trick he knows she won’t be able to resist.

Plastering on a sweet, demure smile, he ducks his chin, adopting a classic coy omega gesture that he knows she’ll appreciate. “But Mom, you don’t understand. Natalie’s going to be hanging out with Levi while I’m at Dad’s, and she may not be an omega herself, but she’s in the Society. Maybe she could teach me a few things about being… proper.”

Natalie’s only in the Society because her daddy is rich enough to buy her way in despite her beta status, but his mom doesn’t care about that. She only cares if you’re in the Society or if you’re not.

“Really, Lou?” Her voice wavers, and Louis watches in mild horror as her eyes well up with emotion. He’s never seen her cry before, and yet, the thought of him becoming a ‘proper’ omega is enough to break her.

It takes everything in him not to roll his eyes. Instead, he forces himself to keep up the act, layering on the charm. “Really, Mom. Maybe after her help, I’ll finally be ready to wear the turtleneck and collar.”

“Oh, honey,” she sniffles, pulling him into a tight hug. He grimaces but forces himself to endure it, gritting his teeth through the moment.

As soon as she lets go, he flashes her another fake smile. “I’ve got to go now, Mom. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“Okay, honey,” she says, wiping her eyes. “Be a good omega, okay?”

Louis swallows down his guilt. As frustrating as she can be, as much as she badgers him and holds him to a different standard than Levi, he knows she loves him. She’s just… old-fashioned.

But he can’t be what she wants him to be.

So, he only offers a weak wave. “Okay, Mom.”

And then he’s off, ready to set his plan into motion.

***

“I don’t know if I can do this. Why did I think I could do this? Why did you let me do this?”

Now that he’s actually here—in the parking lot, staring at the massive Illyria campus—Louis isn’t so sure he’s ready. His palms are damp, his throat tight. The reality of what he’s about to do crashes down on him all at once. Pretending to be an alpha. Hiding his omega status every day for the next few weeks. And somehow, while doing all that, focusing every ounce of his energy on making the soccer team.

It suddenly feels impossible.

“You’ll do fine, Lou,” Liam says reassuringly, patting his shoulder. “After all our practice runs, you seem more alpha than I do.” He grins, but then his expression turns more serious. “But… there is one more thing I forgot to ask you.”

Louis frowns, immediately on edge. “What?”

Liam hesitates for half a second, then asks, “What are you going to do if you, you know… slick?”

Louis’ stomach drops.

That’s the one thing he hasn’t accounted for. Scent neutralizers will mask his natural omega smell, but the scent of slick is a different beast altogether. It’s thick with pheromones—unmistakable and overpowering to any alpha. No amount of neutralizer could hide it.

“I just won’t get slick,” Louis says flatly, forcing nonchalance.

Liam gives him a look because they both know that’s easier said than done.

But Louis can’t dwell on it. Not now. His chest is already tight with nerves, and the longer he sits here, the more tempted he is to bolt. He needs to move, needs air. Without another word, he shoves the car door open and steps out.

Liam follows him around to his side of the vehicle.

“So…” Louis says, trying to steady his voice. He flashes a cocky grin in an attempt to distract himself. “How do I look? Alpha enough?”

Liam gives him a once-over, taking in the subtle stubble on his jawline, the carefully applied makeup that sharpens his features, and the way he’s done his hair, styled up and to the side like Levi keeps his, unlike his usual fringe. He nods, clearly impressed.

“Yeah, you could pass,” Liam says, tilting his head. “The makeup and facial hair really tone down your omega features. And I can’t smell your scent at all. It’s almost scary how much you look like Levi.” He scans Louis again, eyes narrowing slightly. “Wait—are you wearing lifts?”

Louis smirks and nods. “Yeah. Figured a five-seven alpha isn’t as convincing as a five-eleven alpha.”

Liam chuckles. “Nice touch.”

Louis exhales shakily, his bravado slipping for a brief moment.

“So… are you ready for this?” Liam asks.

The nerves hit him all over again, twisting in his gut like a vice. He shakes his head. “No. This is a stupid idea. Maybe we should just go home.”

“No, Louis.” Liam’s voice is firm, steady. His grip on Louis’ shoulder tightens, anchoring him. “You’ve made it this far. And I’ll be honest—I was against it at first. But now? I want to see you pull this off. You’ve worked too hard to back out now. You’ll do great.” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Just remember—you’ve got a knot in your pants, and you know how to use it, okay?”

Louis lets out a breathy, nervous laugh. His heart is still racing, but Liam’s confidence is contagious. He nods. “I have a knot, and I know how to use it.”

“There’s the spirit,” Liam grins, pulling him in for a quick, firm hug. “And remember—if you need anything, just call us.”

“Thanks, Li,” Louis murmurs, genuine warmth in his voice. He knows he wouldn’t be able to pull this off without his friends’ support.

Liam strides back to the driver’s side, flashing one last encouraging grin. “Don’t mention it. And remember—confidence is key.”

And then he’s gone, leaving Louis alone to face the gauntlet.

For a brief moment, Louis feels the weight of it all—the magnitude of what he’s doing. His hands tremble slightly at his sides, but he clenches them into fists, pushing the nerves down.

He puffs his chest out a little. Straightens his shoulders.

You’re a strong omega. You can do this.

He grips the handle of his duffle bag, throws it over his shoulder, and follows the map on his phone toward the dorms. His is on the far side of campus, which means he has to weave through a sea of students to get there. His nose is instantly assaulted by the overwhelming mix of scents—alphas, betas, omegas—all swirling together in the warm air. It’s disorienting, but he keeps moving, forcing himself to stay calm and composed.

When he finally reaches the alpha dormitories, he feels the full weight of their presence settle over him.

The space is crawling with alphas. Broad shoulders, cocky stances, deep voices filling the air with easy confidence. And Louis feels it—the involuntary flicker of his omega instincts, urging him to shrink, to keep his head down, to make himself small.

But he forces the feeling down. Keeps his stride even, his face neutral.

None of the alphas even give him a second glance.

Whew.

Still, his inner omega squirms slightly in discomfort at being so outnumbered. Surrounded. Vulnerable.

You’re an alpha, he reminds himself. They can’t tell.

He exhales slowly and finds his dorm. Once inside, he shuts the door firmly behind him, leaning against it for a moment, catching his breath.

Relief floods through him—until he turns around and finds three alphas staring at him.

Louis eyes the trio carefully, sizing them up.

The first alpha he notices is blonde and skinny, with a friendly face and a disarming grin. The kind of guy who looks easygoing and harmless, probably the class clown type.

Next to him is a female alpha with sharp brown eyes and freckles splattered across her nose and cheeks. Her red hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she carries herself with a confident ease that makes her seem both approachable and self-assured.

But it’s the third alpha who captures Louis’ attention.

He’s standing a few feet away, shirtless, and fuck. His toned chest and arms are covered in dark, intricate tattoos, more ink than Louis would have imagined possible for an eighteen-year-old. Not that he’s complaining.

The alpha’s soft brown curls fall past his ears in messy waves, framing a face with plush, pink lips that look almost too pretty for someone so rugged. But it’s his eyes that get Louis the most—piercing, startlingly green, and locked onto him with a focused intensity that makes Louis’ stomach flip.

He’s staring. Fuck.

Louis quickly tears his gaze away, blinking out of his daze. “Hi, sorry,” he mumbles. His voice comes out higher-pitched than he intends—far too omega-like. He clears his throat, pitching it lower to hopefully sound more like Levi. “Ehm… I, uh… live here.”

The three alphas exchange glances, then the redhead steps forward with a warm smile, extending her hand.

“I’m Victoria.”

Louis quickly takes her hand, giving her the firmest alpha handshake he can muster. “I’m Lou—Levi. Levi Tomlinson.”

The name stumbles off his tongue awkwardly, and he cringes inwardly at how unconvincing it sounds. Get it together, Tomlinson.

The blonde alpha grins and sticks his hand out next. “I’m Niall.”

Louis shakes it, grateful for the easygoing introduction.

But when he turns back to the tattooed alpha, he finds him still staring, his expression more serious, more intense. Those green eyes remain locked onto his, unwavering.

Finally, the alpha speaks, and his voice is lower and rougher than Louis was expecting. “Harry,” he says simply. “I’m your roommate. These two are my friends.”

Of course. Because of course Louis gets saddled with the hottest fucking alpha he’s ever laid eyes on.

The moment Harry steps closer, Louis is hit with his scent. A crisp, woodsy pine that makes his omega instincts stir involuntarily. It’s grounding and intoxicating all at once, and Louis has to fight the sudden, irrational urge to bury his face in Harry’s chest and inhale.

No. Nope. Not alpha thoughts. Push them down.

He inhales sharply through his nose and sets his duffle on the nearest bed, forcing himself to focus. But he suddenly realizes he hasn’t said anything for a beat too long, leaving an awkward silence hanging in the air.

Desperate to fill it, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“So, have you three been going here since freshman year?”

Niall stretches out on the bed with a lazy grin. “Me and Harry have, but Vic transferred here sophomore year.”

Harry is still watching him, eyes slightly narrowed, and Louis feels the weight of it.

“What about you?” Harry asks, voice still low and steady. “I’ve never seen you around campus.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Louis says, keeping his voice casual. “I transferred here from Whitfield.”

That earns him three blank stares.

“Why did you transfer?” Niall asks, raising a brow.

Louis remembers he needs to sell his backstory—well, Levi’s backstory. He shrugs nonchalantly. “Got expelled.”

Victoria’s eyes glimmer with curiosity. “For what?”

Louis forces a cocky grin, leaning into his role. “Smoking weed in the parking lot during school hours.”

That gets their attention. Victoria smirks, and Niall lets out a low chuckle, clearly impressed.

“You’ve got my respect, Tomlinson,” Niall grins.

Louis smirks, playing it cool, but when he glances at Harry, he notices the alpha is still watching him with that same unreadable expression—less amused, more assessing. Louis’ stomach tightens.

Shit. Am I being too casual? Too careful? Does he suspect something?

He can’t let himself overthink it. He changes the subject quickly.

“So, do you guys know when soccer tryouts are?”

Harry’s eyes glimmer with a flicker of amusement, and he lets out a breathy laugh, almost scoffing.

“You play?”

“Yeah, defender,” Louis replies smoothly, holding his ground. His heart is pounding but he doesn’t let it show. “Do you play as well?”

Before Harry can answer, Victoria smirks. “We all do. Harry’s the team captain.”

Of course he is.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Louis says casually, even though he’s now internally screaming. Captain. Great. 

Still trying to appear relaxed, Louis turns to his bag and unzips it. He starts unpacking, pulling out a few clothes and his toiletries—

—and freezes when he hears Harry’s voice behind him.

“Levi,” Harry says, holding up a small square object with a puzzled expression. “Why do you have pads in your bag?”

Louis’ stomach plummets.

His eyes snap to the alpha’s hand, where Harry is holding up the unmistakable packaging of a menstrual pad. Louis’ mouth goes dry. His brain stalls completely.

For a split second, he fish-mouths uselessly, scrambling for an explanation that makes any kind of sense for a male alpha. He can’t tell them the truth—that he uses them when he spots slick during his soft heats. Think, Tomlinson. Think.

And then, without thinking, he blurts out the first thing that comes to his panicked mind.

“They’re for my, uh… my ruts.”

What.

WHAT.

The words are out before he can stop them, and he immediately wants to punch himself in the face. Because not only is that the worst lie imaginable—it makes no fucking sense.

Harry’s brows pull together slowly, eyes flicking between Louis’ face and the pad in his hand.

“For your… rut?” he repeats, clearly dubious.

Louis scrambles, hearing Liam’s voice in his head. Confidence is everything. Confidence is everything. He straightens his spine and shrugs, forcing a casual smirk.

“Yeah.” He glances at the pad in Harry’s hand and arches a brow. “You guys don’t use them for your ruts?”

He tries to make them feel like the weird ones, like they’re somehow out of the loop.

Niall tilts his head, clearly confused. “Should we be?”

“Oh, yeah,” Louis says smoothly, waving his hand like it’s obvious. “All the alphas at Whitfield use them.”

Harry’s eyes narrow slightly, still unconvinced, but Victoria tilts her head, sounding half-curious, half-skeptical. “And… what exactly do you use them for?”

Louis’ brain short-circuits. He panics. And before he can stop himself, the words tumble out.

“You, uh… you knot into them,” he blurts.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Niall chokes on a laugh.

Louis’ face burns.

“You knot into them?” Victoria echoes, her eyes going wide with disbelief.

“Yeah,” Louis insists, doubling down. He shrugs with forced casualness. “Instead of making a mess of your sheets, you have a contained mess. They’re very… absorbing.”

The room erupts into laughter.

Niall actually cackles, clutching his stomach, while Victoria leans into him, giggling. Even Harry—stoic and unreadable until now—lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head slightly.

Face flaming, Louis grabs the pad from Harry’s hand and shoves it back into his bag, muttering a low, “Fuck off.”

And just like that, he knows—this is going to be a lot harder than he thought.

***

Louis stands in line with the other hopefuls, doing his best to project confidence as Coach Tanner sizes them up.

He’d heard plenty of stories about the infamous coach. The man is from New Zealand and has a reputation for being a hard-ass, but a hard-ass with good intentions. He pushes his players mercilessly but only because he believes in making them the best. If Louis wants to prove himself here, he’ll have to meet Tanner’s high standards.

He steals a quick glance down the line, spotting familiar faces. Niall, Victoria, and Harry are spaced out along the row. It’s a relief seeing them, even if he barely knows them. It makes him feel a little less like the new guy.

And thankfully, thanks to the lifts in his shoes, he’s not the shortest player in line. He clocks at least two betas s a smidge shorter than him, which should help sell his cover. Without the lifts, though, he knows he’d be the smallest by far—hardly convincing for an alpha.

Louis forces himself to focus as Coach Tanner starts speaking, laying out the drill instructions. He listens intently, nodding along, until the man casually announces, “We’ll start with a quick scrimmage. Shirts versus skins.”

Louis’ stomach drops.

He stiffens slightly but keeps his face neutral, even as his mind starts racing.

Shirts versus skins. Of course. It’s a standard soccer practice drill, one he’s done a hundred times before. But now, the very thought makes his palms clammy.

Technically, he could be shirtless. He’s flat-chested, unlike a lot of male omegas, so it wouldn’t immediately give him away. His secret wouldn’t be exposed just by losing his top.

But he still doesn’t want to.

Because even without a chest, he knows his figure is still too telling. His waist is too tiny and his hips curve slightly more than they should—subtle, but noticeable enough that a sharp-eyed alpha might pick up on it. The last thing he needs is anyone questioning why he, an alpha, has fucking birthing hips.

For the first time since he arrived, he wonders if he might be in over his head. But it’s too late to back out now.

The coach’s whistle pierces the air, yanking Louis out of his spiraling thoughts. The players around him start shifting as Tanner calls out the teams.

Louis holds his breath.

Please shirts. Please shirts. Please shirts.

And then he hears it.

“Skins.”

His stomach plummets.

Fuck.

Louis knows he has to speak up. There’s no way he can be skins. He can’t.

So he forces himself to take a steadying breath and musters the courage to call out, “Excuse me, Coach?”

The second the words leave his mouth, every single head turns toward him.

All eyes on him.

His throat goes dry, but he stands tall, forcing himself to meet the scrutiny with as much false confidence as he can muster.

Coach Tanner’s sharp eyes lock onto him immediately. The alpha stalks over, stopping just shy of Louis’ face. His voice is sharp and gravelly when he barks, “What is it, Tomlinson?”

Louis lowers his voice, desperate to keep this as private as possible. He leans in slightly, hoping to avoid the entire team overhearing him.

“I can’t be skins,” he mutters, trying to keep the plea firm but even.

The coach’s brows knit together in confusion. His eyes narrow slightly, clearly not expecting that.

“And why the hell not?” Tanner demands, loud enough for half the team to hear.

Louis barely manages not to flinch at the sharpness in the alpha’s tone. His inner omega hates being yelled at by an alpha, every instinct in him screaming to shrink back and submit. His fingers twitch slightly at his sides, fighting the urge to step back.

But he holds his ground, refusing to let his body betray him.

His mind scrambles for an excuse—any excuse. But he sure as hell can’t tell the truth.

‘Oh, yeah, Coach. I can’t be skins because my body’s a little too omega. Because surprise—I actually am one!’

So instead, the first thing that falls out of his mouth is:

“I’m allergic… to the sun?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Coach Tanner’s brows shoot up. His head tilts slightly in disbelief. “Are you asking me or telling me, son?” he growls, clearly unimpressed.

Louis squares his shoulders and holds his ground, trying to appear unfazed. “Telling you, sir,” he says with as much conviction as he can.

For a split second, the coach just stares at him. Then, with a sneer dripping in sarcasm, he mutters, “Well, we wouldn’t want your precious skin to burn, now would we?”

Several nearby alphas snicker under their breath, but Louis ignores them, keeping his face stoic.

“Daffodil here will be shirts, then,” Tanner adds mockingly, already moving on.

Daffodil.

Fucking great.

As if he wasn’t already humiliated enough for calling attention to himself, now he’s got a dainty little nickname to go with it.

Louis feels his face heat with embarrassment but keeps his jaw tight, refusing to react.

Then Coach glances over his shoulder. “Styles, you’ll be skins instead,” he orders sharply.

Louis has to physically stop himself from groaning out loud.

Because of course. Of course he would be cursed with having to watch Harry strip down instead.

He doesn’t want to look. He knows he shouldn’t look.

But his traitorous eyes flick over anyway, catching the moment Harry grabs the back of his shirt and drags it over his head.

His muscles stretch and flex with the motion, and his sun-kissed skin glows under the light sheen of sweat clinging to it. The tattoos on his chest and arms shift over his lean frame, dark ink moving with every graceful flex of his body.

And Louis feels his mouth go dry.

But then Harry smirks—actually fucking smirks—at nothing in particular as he balls his shirt up and tosses it onto the bench.

Louis’ breath stutters slightly.

He quickly tears his eyes away, staring hard at the dirt beneath his cleats, desperate to stop the heat curling low in his belly.

Get it together, he scolds himself, blinking rapidly and forcing himself to breathe through his mouth. You cannot get wet.

It takes everything in him to shove the thoughts away and focus.

The practice starts, and Louis thanks every deity that Niall is also on the shirts team. At least he has someone familiar to stick close to.

But he quickly realizes this is a lot harder than he expected. The drills are fast-paced and relentless, definitely more rigorous than anything he endured on Whitfield’s omega team. His muscles ache from the constant strain of sharp sprints, pivots, and defense drills.

Still, he pushes through, determined to keep up.

By the end of it, his entire body feels like it’s coated in a thin layer of dirt and sweat. His legs burn, his shirt clings uncomfortably to his back, and his lungs feel raw from the exertion.

But despite it all, there’s a small sense of satisfaction blooming in his chest.

Because he did it. He may have only made second string, much to his disappointment, but he’s here and determined to change Coach’s mind. 

And no one seemed to notice anything off about him. No one suspected he wasn’t an alpha.

He’d made it through the first practice without getting caught…

“Hit the showers!”

Louis freezes.

He hadn’t accounted for this. How the hell did he forget about showering?

For a brief moment, he considers whether he could get away with it. Maybe he could shower quickly, keep his head down, and no one would notice. Most of the team would be too focused on washing up and getting out to pay attention to him.

But then he remembers the neutralizers.

The moment he steps under the spray, they’ll rinse right off, and his natural scent—warm vanilla and coconut, undeniably omega—will be left completely exposed.

So he lingers.

He takes his time stripping off his cleats and shin guards, deliberately stalling. When the last of his teammates heads toward the showers, he busies himself with his locker instead, rearranging his gear and aimlessly shuffling things around in his bag.

He glances over his shoulder every few seconds, watching the stream of alphas filter out of the locker room one by one.

Just a little longer. Just wait them out.

But apparently, he still can’t catch a break, because just as he’s starting to feel hopeful, Niall strolls over, freshly showered and fully dressed, his damp hair dripping slightly onto his shirt collar.

The blonde alpha eyes him suspiciously. “Why aren’t you showering?”

Louis stiffens. His mind blanks.

Then, like a total idiot, he blurts out, “Oh, you know, my cock is just so big, I wouldn’t want anyone here feeling inferior.”

Niall stares at him blankly.

Louis forces out a shaky laugh. “It was a joke…” he adds weakly, as if that somehow makes it better.

For a second, Niall’s expression doesn’t change but then, to his surprise, the alpha cracks a lopsided smile and shakes his head.

“You’re a weird one, Tomlinson,” he chuckles.

Louis isn’t sure if that’s meant as an insult or a compliment, but he smiles anyway, relieved that Niall isn’t questioning him further.

“Well, I gotta go,” Niall says, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. “You better get to showering, though, ‘cause I’m not coming ‘round to yours and Harry’s dorm if you still smell like that.”

Louis’ stomach drops.

His eyes widen slightly as he snaps his head toward Niall, panic tightening in his chest.

“Wait! What do I smell like?” he asks quickly, voice a little too sharp with desperation.

Niall furrows his brow slightly at the sudden alarm in his tone but shrugs. “Like sweat and grass, Tommo,” he replies easily before walking out of the locker room.

Louis’ shoulders sag with relief.

He waits a few more minutes, pacing slightly as he watches the last few players trickle out until finally—finally—he’s alone.

He glances around once more just to be sure before stripping down, wrapping a towel loosely around his waist. He needs to be quick and efficient. In and out.

He hangs his towel on the hook and steps under the spray, hissing softly when the hot water hits his sore, overworked muscles. His eyes flutter shut briefly, the heat easing some of the tension from his limbs as he scrubs away the layer of dirt and sweat clinging to his skin.

He’s quick about it, washing up in record time, but his nerves still spike the moment he smells the neutralizer starting to rinse away. His scent begins to seep through—the familiar sweetness of vanilla and coconut warming the damp air around him.

His hands move faster, hurriedly rinsing himself off. His heart hammers in his chest, and he’s just reaching for his bag where he stashed his can of neutralizer when—

The door to the locker room creaks open.

Louis’ entire body stiffens.

And then, he hears it.

Harry’s voice.

“Thanks, Coach. I’m gonna go shower now,” he calls out.

Louis’ breath catches in his throat. He fumbles slightly with his bag, ripping the zipper open and snatching the can of neutralizer. His hands shake slightly as he sprays it all over himself, coating his skin and hair in a desperate attempt to mask his scent.

He holds his breath, closing his eyes briefly as he waits for the neutralizer to do its job. Slowly, the sharpness of his omega scent dissipates, leaving only the scent-blocking chemicals in its place.

He exhales shakily, relieved.

But of course, just as he’s tucking the can back into his bag, he hears it—

The unmistakable sound of someone sucking in a sharp breath.

He freezes.

Then slowly, he glances over his shoulder.

And his blood runs cold.

Because Harry is standing right behind him, completely still, staring directly at his bare ass.

Louis’ heart jumps into his throat.

His first instinct is to yelp, to snatch his towel and bolt for cover.

But he can’t.

Because that’s exactly what an omega would do.

And right now, he needs to be an alpha.

So instead of scrambling, he schools his face into a mask of calm indifference. His hands remain steady. His movements are slow and deliberate as he casually saunters over to his towel, plucking it from the hook with an air of nonchalance.

He wraps it loosely around his waist, deliberately tying it higher than usual to conceal the noticeable curve of his hips.

Then, he turns around and faces Harry, forcing himself to appear completely unaffected.

“Hey, Harry,” he says casually, even managing a small, easy grin. “You’re showering late.”

Harry’s eyes snap up to meet his, the alpha clearly caught off guard. His throat bobs slightly as he swallows.

“Uh, so are you,” Harry mutters, voice slightly rougher than usual as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Touché,” Louis chuckles lightly, walking over to his locker, forcing himself to appear relaxed even though his chest feels like it might cave in.

He grabs his clothes, deliberately keeping his back turned to Harry as he dresses quickly, pretending not to notice the way Harry’s eyes linger on him.

“I’ll see you back at the dorm, yeah?” Louis tosses over his shoulder, his voice light and unaffected.

Harry just nods slightly, brows furrowed as usual.

Louis doesn’t wait for him to say anything else.

He glances once toward Harry’s locker, seeing the alpha stripping out of his jersey. His toned chest and arms are already on display, and Louis knows—he knows—that if he sticks around long enough to see Harry naked under the steamy shower spray, he’s fucked.

He’ll get slick and he’ll get caught.

So the second he finishes dressing, he bolts.

He barely looks over his shoulder as he practically speed-walks out of the locker room, eager to put as much distance between himself and the gorgeous, wet, naked alpha as possible.

***

“Guys, I don’t know what to do.”

Louis slumps over his coffee, eyes wide with exasperation as he stares at Liam, Zayn, and Leigh-Anne. He needs to rant, and they’re the only ones he can talk to about his first few days at Illyria. The only ones who know what he’s doing.

“Being an alpha is way harder than I thought,” he groans. “On my first day, a pad I had in my bag—for my soft heats, mind you—fell out in front of my alpha roommate and his two alpha friends.”

Zayn nearly chokes on his drink, eyes bugging out. “What the fuck did you say?”

Louis sighs dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “I panicked. So I said it was for my ruts.”

Liam squints at him in confusion. “Wait. A pad? For a rut?”

Louis levels him with a deadpan stare. “You sound just like them.” He gestures vaguely with his hands, exasperated. “I told them I knot into it. Y’know, so it absorbs all the jizz instead of making a mess of my sheets.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Liam, in complete seriousness, tilts his head and says, “Actually… that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

Louis blinks at him, momentarily thrown. “What?”

Liam shrugs. “Think about it. Less mess, no stained sheets—”

“Stop validating it,” Leigh-Anne interrupts, giving him a pointed look before turning back to Louis with a teasing grin. “That sounds ridiculous.”

Louis scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. “They sure thought so. They laughed at me.” He pouts dramatically, lower lip jutting out in mock indignation.

Zayn snorts. “To be fair, you deserved it for saying something so dumb.”

Louis glares at him.

Liam chuckles softly, but then his brow furrows slightly in concern. “Okay, so that was embarrassing, but it’s not the end of the world. It’s not like they found out you’re an omega.”

“No, but that’s not the worst part,” Louis grumbles, sitting up again and fiddling with the rim of his coffee cup. “My roommate is on the soccer team too. I tried to wait to shower so no one would be around when the neutralizer wore off. But of course, Harry caught me mid-shower.”

Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up in intrigue, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Oh?”

Louis narrows his eyes at him. “Don’t.”

But Zayn ignores him, already leaning forward. “So… did he get an eyeful?” he asks with a mischievous smirk.

Louis’ face flames, and he groans again, flopping forward onto the table dramatically. “Yes,” he mutters into the wood. “He got a full view of my bare ass.”

Zayn practically beams. “He should consider himself blessed.” He gestures toward Louis’ backside with a flourish. “Your ass is a work of art, Tomlinson. He’s probably still thinking about how an alpha could have an ass that nice.”

Louis lifts his head just enough to glare at him. “I hate you.”

Zayn only grins wider.

“Seriously, though,” Louis mutters, running a hand through his hair. “It was awkward as hell. I barely got out of there without making a fool of myself.” He exhales heavily, staring into his coffee cup. “I just… I don’t think they like me very much.”

“Harry?” Liam asks.

“And his friends,” Louis clarifies, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “They seem forced to talk to me in class and at soccer practice. I don’t think they suspect I’m an omega, but… they can tell something’s off. They’re kinda standoffish around me.”

Leigh-Anne hums thoughtfully, then tilts her head, a sly smirk tugging at her lips. “Maybe we just need to show them how alpha you really are.”

Louis shoots her a skeptical look. “And how do we do that?”

Her smirk widens into a devilish grin as she leans forward conspiratorially.

“Here’s what I’m thinking…”

***

Louis had overheard Harry, Niall, and Victoria mention they were grabbing dinner at a casual local restaurant, and he figured it was the perfect opportunity to execute their plan. He found it a little rude that they hadn’t invited him, but he pushed the slight aside. If all went well, they’d be begging him to join them next time.  

When he spots them sitting in a booth, sharing a plate of fries and laughing amongst themselves, he feels a flicker of nerves. But then Harry’s eyes meet his from across the restaurant, and his laughter cuts off mid-chuckle. Louis freezes for half a second, but then he figures, Well, I’ve already been caught.  

He squares his shoulders and strides over, casually plopping down beside Harry. He makes a point to sit like a cocky alpha—legs spread wide, arm draped lazily over the back of the booth, a smirk playing at his lips.  

“Hey, guys. Fancy seeing you all here,” he drawls, summoning every ounce of false bravado he can muster.  

Niall eyes him with amusement, while Harry regards him with the same unreadable expression he always wears. Victoria, at least, makes a valiant effort at being polite, offering him a forced smile.  

“Levi! What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice a little too bright.  

“Oh, I come here all the time,” Louis lies easily, shrugging. He leans in conspiratorially, flashing them a cocky grin. “Great place to pick up omegas, you know what I’m saying?”  

He smirks confidently, but the three alphas only give him a collective look of deadpan disbelief that clearly says, Yeah, fucking right.

“You? Picking up omegas? Here?” Harry drawls, arching a brow. His lips twitch slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing there. “I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but you don’t really strike me as the… omega killer type.”  

Louis’ smirk widens slightly because he knows he’s about to eat those words.  

Right on cue, he spots Leigh-Anne sauntering into the restaurant, wearing a skintight pink mini dress that clings to every curve. She looks stunning, and his first instinct is to tell her so. But that’s his inner omega talking. He has to be a cocky, unbothered alpha right now.  

When she reaches him, he schools his features into a bored expression, feigning indifference.  

“Levi!” she squeals dramatically, throwing her arms around him. Louis stands to meet her embrace, but as he does, he glances over his shoulder at the booth and mockingly mouths, crazy, while pointing at her.  

He pulls back, and Leigh-Anne pouts prettily. “After our night together, you never called me,” she says with a perfect touch of wounded betrayal.  

Louis tilts his head, giving her a lazy smirk. “I must’ve lost your number, baby. You know I’d never lead a pretty little omega like you on.”  

Leigh-Anne gasps in delight, her eyes going wide with exaggerated affection. “I knew it!” she cheers, practically bouncing on the spot. Then she leans up on her toes, breath hot against his ear as she whispers just loud enough for the nearby alphas to hear, “Here’s my number again. Use it if you ever want a good, wet ride.”  

She slips a piece of paper into his hand before planting a lingering kiss on his cheek, then struts away, putting a little extra sway in her hips. Louis, ever the committed actor, watches her go with a low whistle, making a show of ogling her ass.  

When he finally turns back to the table, all three alphas are gaping at him in blatant disbelief.  

But he’s not done yet.  

He spots Liam sitting at a nearby table, subtly nodding in his direction. Showtime.  

Zayn appears next, sauntering toward him, looking just as sinful as Leigh-Anne in a tight graphic tee, black skinny jeans, and a sleek leather jacket. His hair is perfectly styled, and he walks with the confidence of someone who knows he looks good.  

Louis barely suppresses a smirk. Oh, this is going to be fun.

“Levi? Levi Tomlinson?” Zayn exclaims in a breathy, theatrical voice, making a scene as he rushes toward him.  

Louis straightens up, feigning pleasant surprise. “Hey, Zayn! How’ve you been?” he asks casually, pulling him into a firm hug.  

For added effect, Zayn clings to him like he’s starved for touch, burying his face against Louis’ neck and inhaling deeply.  

“I’ve been terrible, Levi,” he whines dramatically, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear. “You’ve ruined me for other alphas. Their knots are just so small and unsatisfying compared to yours.”  

Louis hears Harry snort behind him, but he doesn’t dare break character. He pulls back just enough to cup Zayn’s cheek, lowering his voice into a husky drawl. “I’m sorry, Z. You’ll always mean something to me. We were each other’s firsts, after all. You’re special.”  

Zayn’s eyes widen, his expression turning soft and vulnerable as he tilts his head, baring his throat in a submissive display.  

“You mean that?” he asks breathily, perfectly selling the lovesick omega act.  

Louis strokes his jaw lightly, offering him a cocky grin. “Yeah, babe.” His voice drops low, almost condescending. “Now be a good little omega and run along.”  

Zayn sighs wistfully, turning to leave—but not before tossing a cheeky glance over his shoulder and wiggling his ass suggestively.  

Louis huffs, smirking despite himself. Of course Zayn would add extra theatrics. But he rolls with it, slapping Zayn’s ass with a sharp smack before the omega struts away, just as sultry and dramatic as Leigh-Anne.  

With a contented sigh, Louis flops back down beside Harry, leaning casually against the booth with a self-satisfied smirk. When he glances at the three alphas, they’re still staring at him, mouths slightly agape.  

“What?” he asks innocently.  

Niall and Victoria suddenly break into matching grins.  

“That was fucking awesome,” Victoria cackles, clearly impressed.  

“Yeah, they were both totally hot. And you knotted them both?” Niall asks, wide-eyed and thoroughly impressed.  

Louis shrugs nonchalantly, like it’s no big deal. “I did. They were pretty good lays.” He waves it off with a casual flick of his hand, as if it’s just another day.  

Even Harry looks amused now, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You were really each other’s firsts?” he asks, eyes glinting with curiosity.  

Louis flashes him a cheeky grin. “I was his,” he says smoothly, leaning back with a wink.  

“Wow, Tommo,” Niall grins, clearly impressed. “I don’t think we realized how cool you were.”  

Louis is just about to bask in his victory when he hears a familiar, piercing shriek from across the restaurant.  

“Levi Tomlinson!”  

He grimaces instantly. He looks up to see Natalie storming toward him, arms crossed and eyes blazing. She looks livid.  

“Levi! What are you doing running away from me? Don’t ignore me!” she wails dramatically.  

Louis’ eyes widen in panic. Shit. She knows what both twins look like. From a distance, he could fool her, but up close? She might catch on.  

Thinking fast, he bolts from the booth, crossing the restaurant to intercept her.  

“Natalie, please go away,” he hisses, turning his face slightly so she can’t get a good look.  

But she’s not having it. “We can work this out!” she cries, drawing attention from the entire restaurant—including Liam, Zayn, and Leigh-Anne, who all look on in barely concealed panic.  

Desperate, Louis whips around and shouts, loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear, “No, we can’t! Because if it weren’t for condoms, I’d have chlamydia because of you!”  

Natalie gapes at him, humiliated, then lets out an indignant squawk before fleeing.  

When Louis returns to the booth, all three alphas are grinning at him.  

“My crazy ex,” he rolls his eyes, dramatically. 

“That seemed well-deserved,” Harry smirks, clapping him on the back.  

Louis’ inner omega practically purrs at the touch.  

Victoria grins. “You know, you can sit with us at lunch if you want sometime.”  

He could kiss Leigh-Anne—because her plan worked like a charm.

***

Louis does end up sitting with them at lunch. And to his delight, they even include him in their group for Biology. Which is where he finds himself now—at a lab table, preparing for dissection.

Unfortunately, he’s already horrified at the thought of cutting open some poor, innocent creature.

When the professor starts assigning random partners, Louis crosses his fingers, hoping he’ll get paired with Harry. He can’t help it—the alpha is ridiculously hot, and his scent alone makes Louis’ knees weak.

But of course, fate has other plans.

Instead, he’s paired with a girl named Zoey, an omega he vaguely remembers bumping into on campus once. She’s pretty, with long blonde hair and warm brown eyes. She offers him a small smile and a little wave when she recognizes him.

Before he can respond, Harry suddenly reaches out and grabs his wrist.

“You know her?” he asks, voice low.

Louis barely registers the question. His mind blanks the second he feels Harry’s long, slender fingers wrap around his wrist. The touch is firm but gentle, and it sends a shiver down his spine. Fuck.

His inner omega practically melts. The gesture is so instinctually soothing, so inherently alpha—a common one meant to ground and comfort an omega. His entire body goes slack for a fraction of a second, and he stares down at Harry’s hand, heat pooling in his belly.

“Levi!” Harry whisper-yells, giving his wrist a small shake.

Louis startles slightly, blinking as he realizes he’s been staring far too long to be considered normal.

Harry lets go, and Louis has to fight the urge to chase the warmth of his touch, biting back the pathetic whine threatening to slip out.

He clears his throat and scrambles for a reply, suddenly remembering the question. “Zoey? Oh, um… not really. I just bumped into her the other day. We made some small talk.”

Niall, who’s been eavesdropping, leans forward with a teasing grin. “Harry’s had a huge crush on her since freshman year,” he supplies with a wink.

Louis’ stomach twists unpleasantly.

Harry’s eyes widen slightly, and he quickly leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Will you talk me up to her?” he asks, hopeful, his green eyes earnest and wide.

Louis stiffens. His throat goes dry. He feels like he’s just been punched in the gut.

Still, he plasters on a smirk, determined to act the part. “I didn’t think a strong, sexy alpha like you would have any trouble talking to an omega,” he drawls before he can think better of it.

Three pairs of eyes snap toward him.

Louis immediately realizes his mistake. Most alphas don’t casually call their alpha friends ‘sexy’. He scrambles to cover it up, clearing his throat. “I just mean, you always seem so confident,” he adds quickly, hoping to smooth over the slip.

Harry smiles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “I usually am,” he admits. “But it’s different with her. She’s just… so pretty.”

Louis clenches his jaw, willing himself not to react. The pang of jealousy is swift and sharp, but he ignores it. Instead, he shrugs nonchalantly, flashing a casual smile before making his way over to sit across from Zoey.

When she looks up and meets his eyes, she gives him a warm smile. “Hey, partner,” she greets easily. “It’s Levi, right? I know we met the other day, but my mind was a little scattered.”

“No worries,” Louis replies smoothly, even as he grimaces at the sight of the fetal pig resting in the dissection tray. The formaldehyde smell is enough to make his stomach churn. “So, not to be a buzzkill or anything, but I refuse to cut open a little, tiny pig.”

Zoey blinks, looking slightly surprised. “Wow. Most alphas think dissection is kinda cool,” she notes, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

“Oh,” Louis curses himself. ”Shit, you’re right.” He forgot that squeamishness isn’t exactly a stereotypical alpha trait.

To his surprise, Zoey smiles softly. “No, I think it’s sweet.”

Her tone shifts slightly, sweeter, more flirtatious. And that’s when Louis notices the subtle tilt of her head, the slight exposure of her neck—the unmistakable sign of an omega’s interest.

Oh. She’s flirting with him.

She’s looking at him the same way he probably looks at Harry. 

Zoey is cute—really cute—but he likes his partners to have about a hundred percent more knot. He gulps.

Still, he has to play the part. He has to seem like a regular alpha. And regular alphas don’t shy away from flirting with omegas.

He leans in slightly, flashing her a cocky grin. “So, Zoey, you know who else is super sweet?” he asks.

She tilts her head, intrigued. “Who?”

“My friend Harry.”

It stings a little, saying it out loud. But he does it anyway, forcing himself to keep his expression easy and relaxed.

Zoey’s smile falters slightly, and she glances over at the alpha in question, brow furrowing. “Harry Styles?” she asks, clearly unimpressed. “Nah, I don’t think so. He’s not really my type.”

Louis blinks. What the fuck?

Not really her type?!

Is she blind? Harry is every omega’s type. His body is basically sculpted by the gods. His voice is so deep and so alpha. He smells like sex and safety and everything Louis’ pathetic omega heart craves.

And she doesn’t think he’s her type?!

Without thinking, Louis scoffs. “Oh, come on,” he says, incredulous. “Harry is everyone’s type. He’s super charming and hot and his muscles flex just right and—” he pauses, leaning in slightly, voice softening dreamily, “—he lets out these cute little grumbles when he sleeps and—”

He freezes.

Her confused expression makes him snap his mouth shut instantly. His face flushes as he realizes he’s basically daydreaming about Harry aloud like some lovesick omega.

He clears his throat, schooling his features into something more indifferent. “I mean… he’s a cool guy,” he says flatly, shrugging. “I’m sure a pretty omega like you would have fun with him.”

Zoey blushes at the compliment, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Of course. You’re gorgeous.” He offers her a warm smile. “Just… not my type.”

The second the words leave his mouth, he knows he’s made a mistake.

Her face falls slightly, brows knitting in confusion. “I’m not your type? Why?”

Louis stammers for half a second, scrambling for an excuse. “I just… uh… I prefer male omegas,” he blurts out quickly.

Her eyes widen in surprise, but she quickly recovers, offering a small smile. “Oh…” she murmurs softly, dropping her gaze slightly, suddenly looking a little deflated.

Louis immediately feels guilty. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice in a gentle tone. “Hey, don’t feel bad,” he reassures her. “You’re honestly one of the only people here I feel comfortable talking to. And that’s saying a lot since we’ve only interacted twice.”

She glances up at him, her eyes softening. “Really? I feel the same about you.”

He smiles, relieved. “Just… think about Harry, okay?” he says with a playful nudge.

She giggles lightly, relaxing again. “Okay… I’ll think about it.” She flashes him a teasing grin. “But no promises.”

Louis laughs, but when he glances toward Harry, he catches the alpha watching him with a curious expression. Their eyes meet for a brief moment, and Louis quickly looks away, his heart thudding in his chest.

He needs to get a fucking grip. 

***

“So, what did she say about me?” Harry asks eagerly at lunch, leaning forward slightly with a hopeful glint in his eye.

Louis freezes for half a second, thinking back to his conversation with Zoey—the part where she flat-out said that Harry wasn’t her type. But there’s no way in hell he’s going to tell the alpha that.

Instead, he plasters on a reassuring smile. “She said…” he pauses briefly, scrambling for a believable lie, “that she’ll think about a date with you.”

Harry’s brow furrows slightly. “That’s it?” he asks, clearly underwhelmed. “What did you say to her about me?”

Louis shrugs, forcing a casual tone. “The truth,” he says, grabbing a fry off Niall’s plate and popping it into his mouth. “She just needs some time. She’ll come around soon, I swear.”

“Alright,” Harry says slowly, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

The alpha’s disappointment stings a little more than Louis expects. And he realizes he’d really rather not spend the entire lunch period talking about Harry with another omega. It makes his chest feel tight.

So, he switches the subject. “Anyway, our first game is against Whitfield,” he announces, glancing around the table. “You guys ready?”

Victoria’s eyes narrow slightly, and she arches a brow. “Are you?” she asks, almost challenging. “Isn’t that your old team?”

Louis’ hand clenches slightly around his fork, but he forces himself to remain relaxed, offering a casual shrug. “Yeah, I’m ready.” His tone is breezy, but he can’t help the slight edge of bitterness that creeps in when he adds, “The captain, Jake? He’s an asshole. Used to date my brother.”

The second the words leave his mouth, he freezes.

He wasn’t supposed to mention his twin.

“You have a brother?” Niall asks.

Louis curses himself silently, but he forces a neutral nod. “Yeah,” he answers with a shrug, as if it’s no big deal. “He’s an omega.”

Harry’s interest seems piqued immediately. He takes a bite of his apple, chewing slowly before asking, “Is he hot?”

Louis blinks, caught off guard by the question. He stares at Harry for a beat, momentarily distracted by the absurdly sexy way the alpha somehow manages to make eating a fucking apple look attractive.

He clears his throat, trying to shake it off. “I mean… he’s my brother,” he deflects, feigning indifference. But after a brief pause, he begrudgingly adds, “But yeah, he’s pretty attractive.”

Objectively speaking, of course.

“Nice,” Niall grins, waggling his brows playfully.

Louis rolls his eyes, but the easy banter makes him relax a little—until the conversation shifts again.

“So, you guys going to the carnival this weekend?” Niall asks casually, leaning back in his seat.

Victoria and Harry immediately nod, voicing their plans to go. But Louis hesitates, pushing a crouton around his plate with his fork.

He can’t go.

He promised his mom he’d help out there as part of the Society who organized the carnival—as Louis, not Levi. And if he wants to keep her from questioning anything, he has to show up.

“Nah,” he says finally, keeping his tone light and disinterested. “Think I’m gonna sit this one out.”

Niall shrugs easily. “Suit yourself, Tommo.”

Louis lets out a slow breath, relieved they don’t push it. He keeps his head down and focuses on his salad, but he can feel Harry’s eyes lingering on him for just a second too long.

And no matter how hard he tries, he can’t ignore the flutter it sends through his chest.

***

Louis stands in front of Zayn’s mirror, fingers trembling slightly as he fusses with his fringe. He finally has the chance to style his hair properly—the way he likes it—swept and feathered, the ends flicking out just right. No more stuffing it under a beanie or styling it endlessly to pass as his alpha twin.

But his hands are shaking too much to get it right.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, dropping the comb onto the vanity with a clatter. He grips the edge of the counter, knuckles going white as he stares at his reflection. His chest is tight, stomach in knots.

He’s going to be at the carnival. They’re going to be there.

His throat bobs. “What if I run into Harry?” he asks, voice slightly shaky as he glances over his shoulder at Zayn. “Or Niall and Victoria?”

Zayn is lounging lazily in a chair by the window, flipping through his phone. He doesn’t even look up, casually shrugging. “Then you introduce yourself as Louis,” he says simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Louis scowls. “You’re acting like it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Liam interjects from where he’s sprawled out on Zayn’s bed, hands tucked behind his head. His voice is steady, reassuring. “You get to finally be yourself around them. Around Harry. We know you like him. Just be the omega that you are.”

Louis lets out a shaky breath, turning back to the mirror. He feels a sharp pang in his chest at Liam’s words. Be the omega that you are. God, he wants to. He’s tired of pretending. Tired of keeping his scent hidden, his body concealed beneath baggy clothes.

But then the panic claws its way back in. He spins around again, pacing slightly. “But what if they get suspicious?” he asks, voice a little higher, more frantic. “What if they figure it out? What if they—”

“Then you say the truth,” Leigh-Anne cuts in smoothly, her voice confident and steady as she sifts through Zayn’s closet. She glances over her shoulder at him, giving him a pointed look. “You’re Levi’s omega twin. You already told them about yourself, so why would they be suspicious? It’s not like you’re pulling some elaborate con.” She snorts, pulling a jacket off the rack. “It’s literally the truth.”

Louis exhales harshly, carding a hand through his hair. Right. The truth. The only problem is, even though it is the truth, it still feels like a lie.

He rubs at the back of his neck, restless. “Just—don’t pick anything too risqué,” he says as Leigh-Anne rifles through more of Zayn’s clothing. “My mom’s gonna be there, and she’ll throw a fucking bitch fit if I wear anything that ‘ruins my omega virtue,’ as she puts it.” He makes air quotes around the phrase, rolling his eyes.

Zayn lets out an exaggerated groan from across the room. “Ugh, why does your mom still live in the dark ages?” he scoffs, tossing his phone down and shooting Louis a disbelieving look.

Louis snorts humorlessly. “Who fucking knows?” he mutters, his lips pulling into a bitter line.

Leigh-Anne’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Okay, Lou,” she announces, finally turning toward him with a victorious grin, her arms stretched wide like she’s unveiling a masterpiece. “I have the outfit.”

She holds it up dramatically, and Louis’ eyes widen slightly as he takes it in.

The jeans are black and tight—the kind that cling in all the right places, hugging his legs and framing his ass like a second skin. Paired with them is a soft, thin grey sweater, the fabric worn and slouchy, giving it a perfect casually sexy vibe. The neckline is just low enough to expose a teasing stretch of his collarbones. It’ll show off the elegant cut of his neck, the faint jut of his shoulder blades. Subtle, but alluring.

It’s the exact type of thing his mom would despise. She’d probably lecture him for hours about how it makes him look ‘cheap’ and ‘improper.’

But Louis isn’t thinking about his mom right now.

He’s thinking about Harry.

About how he’ll look when he spots Louis in this outfit. About whether his eyes will linger. Whether his gaze will drop down and trace the line of his exposed neck, his collarbones, his hips. About whether he’ll stare a second too long.

And despite his nerves, Louis feels a small, satisfied smirk tug at the corner of his lips.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, already reaching out to take the clothes from her hands.

Leigh-Anne grins knowingly. “I knew you’d like it.”

As Louis turns toward the mirror to hold the sweater against his chest, he feels Zayn’s gaze sweep over him appraisingly.

“Yeah, mate,” Zayn smirks, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed lazily over his chest. “You’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”

Liam snorts from the bed. “Or make Harry pop a knot in the middle of the carnival.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop the flush that creeps up his neck.

God, he hopes so.

***

The carnival is already in full swing by the time Louis arrives. The air is thick with the scent of fried food, spun sugar, and freshly popped popcorn, creating a cloying sweetness that clings to the back of his throat. The buzz of laughter and excited shrieks from the rides blend with the tinny melodies of carnival games and the distant bark of a vendor calling out winners. The atmosphere is bright, bustling, and overwhelming.

Louis shoves his hands into the pockets of his tight black jeans, feeling jittery. He swallows hard, his pulse kicking up. He’s here somewhere. They’re here somewhere.

He knows Zayn, Liam, and Leigh-Anne are already milling around, but he’d made a point to arrive separately. If anyone saw him with them, it could raise suspicion. He might be able to pass as Levi’s twin alone, but being seen with two omegas who also happen to be suspiciously familiar? That could be a dead giveaway.

So he wanders through the crowd solo, scanning faces with a subtle intensity, seeking out a familiar mop of unruly curls. His stomach twists with anticipation at the thought of seeing Harry—the real him seeing Harry. No stupid lifts. No flattened hair. No muffled scent. Just him, finally able to be himself.

But instead of running into a certain curly-haired alpha, he’s suddenly engulfed by a familiar pair of arms.

“Louis!” his mom exclaims, pulling him in for a tight hug, pressing a firm kiss to his hair. “I’ve missed you, baby.”

Louis’ heart clenches slightly as he exhales against her shoulder. He misses her too, even if she sometimes drives him up the wall.

But then she leans back and her eyes narrow, taking in his outfit for the first time. Her mouth pulls into a sharp frown, lips pressed thin in disapproval. Her hand drops to her hip, eyes slowly dragging over his form-fitting jeans and the soft, slouchy sweater that’s slipping slightly off his shoulder, exposing more skin than she clearly deems appropriate.

“Honey,” she drawls, her voice tight, “why are you dressed like a floozy?” Her nose wrinkles with distaste. “I thought Natalie was teaching you how to be proper, not a tramp.”

Louis barely suppresses the groan building in his throat. God, really? She hasn’t even seen him for five minutes and she’s already criticizing him.

Rolling his eyes, he throws out the first excuse he can think of. “I’m sorry, Mom. These were the only clean clothes I had,” he lies, tugging half-heartedly at the hem of his sweater. “You know how Dad is with laundry.”

His mom’s stern expression softens slightly at the mention of his father’s domestic ineptitude. She hums, lips pursing thoughtfully. “Hmm. Well,” she sighs, her voice turning fond, “your father never was good with household chores.”

Louis exhales in relief, thinking he’s in the clear, but then—

“Well, anyway,” she continues breezily, patting his arm. “Now that you’re here, you can go work the kissing booth.”

Louis freezes mid-step, his head snapping toward her. “The what?”

She blinks at him, as if confused by his tone. “The kissing booth, honey.” Her smile brightens. “Maybe you’ll meet a nice, rich alpha! They’ll kiss you, fall madly in love, and take you in,” she adds with a hopeful grin.

Louis’ eye twitches. Take him in? What is he, a fucking stray dog?

“Mom, I—” he starts to protest, but then, over her shoulder, he sees him.

Harry.

It’s like the world narrows to just him.

He’s standing near one of the game stalls, bathed in the warm glow of string lights. His tight jeans mold perfectly to his thighs, and his short sleeve button-down is unbuttoned just low enough to expose the tantalizing slope of his chest and the hint of toned abs. He’s casually leaning against the counter, chatting with Niall and Victoria, but his smile is slow and lazy, and Louis can feel actual butterflies in his fucking stomach.

For a brief, breathless moment, Louis just stares.

And then the realization hits him. He’s Louis right now. Not Levi. He doesn’t have to dampen his scent or adjust his voice. He can just… be himself.

All fight drains out of him.

“Okay, I’ve got to go now, Mom,” he blurts, already turning away, squeezing her shoulder briefly before sidestepping around her.

She calls out behind him, “Don’t forget to swap out the other omega in ten minutes!”

But he’s already moving through the crowd, his heart hammering in his chest, his eyes locked on Harry.

He weaves between bodies, his steps quickening, driven by the magnetic pull of the alpha, when—

Smack.

He collides with someone hard.

Louis stumbles backward, but before he can fall, a firm grip catches his elbow, steadying him. Another hand presses lightly against his shoulder. Strong. Warm. Familiar.

He looks up, his breath catching in his throat.

Harry’s green eyes are wide with surprise, brows furrowed slightly as he peers down at Louis. His hands linger just a second too long, holding him steady. The warmth of his palm against Louis’ bare skin where the sweater has slipped makes his omega burn.

And God, he looks so good. The soft curl of his hair is illuminated by the carnival lights, giving him an almost golden halo, while his shirt is open just enough to show off those defined lines of muscle. 

Louis stares, wide-eyed, as his stomach turns.

Then Harry’s brows furrow deeper, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Levi?” he asks, confusion lacing his voice.

Louis’ stomach plummets, but he catches himself quickly. He swallows thickly, masking the momentary panic with a casual shake of his head.

“No,” he corrects with a small, coy smile. “I’m Louis. Levi is my twin brother.”

Harry’s brows knit together further, his gaze sweeping over Louis’ face like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. He still doesn’t let go of Louis’ elbow, his grip firm but gentle.

“You’re twins?” Harry asks, his voice slightly dazed. His eyes linger on the exposed stretch of Louis’ collarbones, subtly glimmering in the light.

“Fraternal.” Louis tilts his head slightly, purposefully baring his throat just a fraction more. “We get mistaken for each other all the time,” he says lightly, “people always think we’re identical. Which is impossible, since he’s an alpha…” He lowers his voice slightly, letting it drop softer, more lilting. “And I’m… not.”

He sees it—the slight flare of Harry’s nostrils as he subtly sniffs the air. It’s the first time he’s inhaling Louis’ natural scent without the neutralizers. His eyes darken slightly, pupils expanding, and Louis’ stomach flips with satisfaction.

Harry’s throat bobs, his voice suddenly rougher. “You smell…” he trails off, blinking slowly. “Sorry, your brother is my roommate so I was a little confused”

Louis swallows back a smug grin.

“Hope Levi isn’t giving you too much trouble,” he says coyly, tucking his chin slightly. His voice is softer now, a little more melodic, the slightest hint of a purr curling around the edges.

Harry blinks, slightly dazed. “Oh. Um… no. He’s not.”

Louis bites back a smile, pulse racing. He steps back slightly, pulling out of Harry’s gentle hold, even though his omega aches to stay pressed against him.

He laces his fingers together and flashes a small, disarming grin. “It was nice meeting you, Harry,” he says sweetly.

“You too…” Harry breathes, his voice slightly uneven.

And as Louis walks away, he feels the weight of Harry’s eyes on him. He can practically feel the alpha’s lingering gaze burning into his back.

The corner of his mouth tugs into a satisfied smirk.

***

When Louis finally reaches the kissing booth, the high from his encounter with Harry deflates almost instantly. His stomach sinks as he takes in the line of awkward, fidgety betas and rough-looking alphas waiting their turn. Most of them are neither attractive nor particularly well-groomed, and the thought of having to kiss all of them makes his skin crawl.

What did I just sign myself up for?

Suppressing a sigh, he forces his feet up the wooden steps of the booth, resigning himself to his fate. But when he reaches the top, he’s met with a familiar face.

Zoey.

The pretty blonde omega is perched on the stool, currently giving a stiff, forced peck to a gangly beta with braces and a bowl cut. Her lips barely graze his before she pulls back sharply, offering a brittle smile. The beta shuffles off, red-faced and grinning despite the lackluster effort.

Louis watches as Zoey discreetly wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her expression screaming get me out of here.

“I’m here to relieve you of your duties,” he says breathlessly, offering her a small smile.

Zoey’s eyes instantly light up with relief. “Oh, thank god.” She starts to rise but freezes when she gets a good look at his face. Her brows knit slightly in confusion, her head tilting.

“Wait…” she squints, studying him. “Do I know you?”

Louis’ stomach jolts, but he quickly plasters on an easy, disarming smile.

“Nope,” he lies smoothly, “but I do have a twin brother, Levi. You might be mixing me up with him.” He flashes her a charming grin, effortlessly weaving the cover story. “You must be Zoey. I’m Louis.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “How did you know my name?”

Louis barely hesitates. “Levi,” he says easily, lowering his voice slightly as if sharing a secret. “He’s mentioned you before.”

That does the trick. Her eyes brighten, the tension in her features softening immediately.

“He talks about me?” she asks, a hopeful lilt in her voice, her eyes going a little wide with surprise.

Louis feels a sharp pang of guilt twisting in his chest, but he nods, forcing himself to hold the easy, flirtatious smile.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, then tilts his head toward the queue of eager, sweaty alphas and betas. “But you should probably run along before you risk getting mono from that line.”

Zoey visibly shudders. “Right. Good call.”

She offers him a grateful smile and turns to leave.

But just as she’s stepping down from the booth, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“You guys are switching?”

Louis freezes at the sound. His stomach flips as he slowly turns around.

Harry.

The alpha stands a few feet away, his hands shoved casually into his jean pockets, but his posture is stiff. His brows are slightly furrowed, and there’s the faintest flicker of confusion in his eyes as he glances between Louis and Zoey.

But the second his eyes land on Zoey, something changes.

His face softens. His lips part slightly in surprise, and for just a moment, there’s something almost hopeful in his expression—like he’s relieved to see her.

And then he glances back at Louis.

The moment Zoey steps off the booth and Harry realizes he is the one working it now, the alpha’s expression falters. His face falls ever so slightly, the disappointment clear in the subtle droop of his shoulders, in the way his fingers twitch faintly at his sides.

It’s subtle—barely noticeable to anyone else—but Louis feels it.

And it stings.

A sharp, hollow ache lodges itself in his chest. Before he can stop himself, he mutters quietly, under his breath,

“Wow. Thanks.”

Harry’s eyes snap to him, widening slightly. His face pales, clearly realizing how he must have looked. He quickly shakes his head, backtracking with a rushed, apologetic tone.

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly, his voice almost pleading. His eyes soften, and he offers a sheepish smile. “It’s totally fine.”

But Louis’ stomach is still knotted, and he can’t bring himself to meet Harry’s gaze for too long. He forces a small, nonchalant shrug and takes his seat on the stool.

Harry lingers awkwardly for a beat, and Louis nearly convinces himself that he’s going to walk away.

But then, with a quiet sigh, Harry steps forward. He fishes a few bills from his pocket and drops them into the jar without a word, his fingers trembling slightly when they brush against Louis’.

He glances up, offering a small, uncertain smile.

“Levi isn’t going to kill me for kissing his brother, right?”

Louis almost laughs at the absurdity of it all. The last thing ‘Levi’ would do is get mad at Harry for kissing him.

He manages a smirk, tilting his head coyly. “I think you’re safe,” he teases softly.

Their eyes lock, and the world around them blurs into nothing but hazy carnival lights and the distant hum of laughter.

Harry stares at him, his gaze flickering down to his lips. And then, slowly, they both lean in.

Their mouths meet softly at first, just a gentle press. Louis’ breath stutters as he feels the warmth of Harry’s lips against his.

But neither of them pulls away.

The kiss lingers, deepens, and suddenly it’s not the polite, fleeting peck the carnival-goers are expecting. Harry’s hand drifts upward, cupping Louis’ jaw, tilting his face slightly to the side. His fingers trail over the curve of his neck, right where his gland is.

Louis lets out a quiet, surprised whimper when Harry’s lips part slightly, deepening the kiss. His tongue brushes briefly against Louis’ bottom lip before slipping inside, and Louis nearly melts.

The kiss becomes something more—slow, teasing, exploring. Harry’s lips move against his with purpose, the faintest growl vibrating in his throat.

Louis’ body betrays him completely. His inner omega practically purrs at the dominant touch, and he feels the unmistakable wetness of slick dampening his underwear. His breath hitches, his thighs clenching slightly.

And then he hears it—the low, throaty noise that rumbles from Harry’s chest, deep and primal. The alpha growls softly against his lips, inhaling sharply, and Louis knows he’s caught the scent of him.

Louis shivers, his lips parting further, pliant and eager. He doesn’t even care that they’re in public. He wants more. Needs more.

But then—

“Hurry the fuck up, idiot! We all want a turn with him!”

The crude shout cuts through the spell like a knife.

Louis startles slightly, blinking dazedly as he pulls back. His lips feel swollen and tingling, his chest heaving slightly.

His eyes snap to Harry, whose pupils are blown wide, his gaze hooded and heavy-lidded. And then—

The alpha smirks.

Louis’ knees almost give out. The way Harry’s lips are slightly red and slick from the kiss, the subtle glimmer of mischief in his eyes—it makes Louis’ entire body buzz with arousal.

But before he can recover, a familiar voice booms across the crowd.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing kissing on my omega?”

Louis groans audibly. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He turns, already knowing what he’ll see.

His ex is marching toward them, his chest puffed out, his jaw set with a cocky sneer. Louis barely gets a chance to react before Jake is hopping up onto the stage.

He storms over and grabs Harry by the collar, yanking him upright.

“Styles,” Jake spits, eyes narrowing. “Of course it had to be you feeling up my omega.”

Harry, to his credit, doesn’t look remotely fazed. His smirk only widens.

“Still mad we’ve beaten Whitfield the last three games in a row?” he drawls smoothly, his voice low and taunting.

Jake’s eyes flash with rage. “You’re gonna eat those words next week.”

Before it escalates further, Louis steps in, shoving his hand against Jake’s chest, pushing him back.

“Jake, go,” he snaps, his voice sharp with exasperation. “I’m not yours. We were never going to work out. I’m just a weak little omega, remember?”

The mocking echo of Jake’s own words makes his jaw clench.

With a scowl, Jake rolls his eyes and storms off.

Harry watches him go, his shoulders still tense, his hands fisted at his sides. Then, without another word, he steps off the stage, jaw tight.

Louis sighs heavily, dragging a hand down his face.

That went well.

***

The rain has been relentless all morning, soaking the practice field into an unplayable mess, forcing the team to move their training session to the campus gym. Louis doesn’t mind, though.

Not when he gets to spend the next hour watching Harry lift weights in a sleeveless shirt that clings to his sweat-slicked skin.

He’s not proud of himself, but fuck, he can’t help it.

He sits on the leg extension machine, half-heartedly pushing twenty pounds with his feet while his eyes drift—again—to where Harry stands by the free weights.

The alpha is doing bicep curls, veins straining slightly along his arms, muscles flexing with each slow, deliberate movement. Beads of sweat cling to his chest, gliding down the toned expanse of skin that peeks out from his low-cut tank. His curls are damp at the tips, sticking to his forehead, and Louis could swear the bastard is flexing just a little harder every time he catches him looking.

Louis’ breath hitches slightly as Harry’s grip tightens around the barbell, his forearms bulging just enough to make Louis’ thighs clench.

He quickly averts his eyes, pretending to focus on his reps. He pushes the machine with his legs half-heartedly, barely feeling the light resistance. He’s the soccer type, not the gym type, and he’s definitely not here to break a sweat.

He’s about to sneak another glance when Harry’s voice cuts through the low hum of gym music.

“So, Levi,” Harry pants slightly, breathless as he sets the barbell back onto the rack with a dull clang. He runs a hand through his damp curls, catching Louis’ gaze. His face is slightly flushed from exertion, and his lips are parted, still pink from where he’s been biting them between sets.

Louis’ throat goes dry.

“I was thinking about asking your brother out tonight,” Harry says casually, wiping his face with the edge of his shirt, briefly exposing a sliver of his toned stomach. He glances at Louis, completely unaware of the havoc he’s wreaking on him. “Would you be cool with that?”

His heart slams against his ribs, and before he can even think, the words are out of his mouth.

“I’d love to.”

The second the words leave his lips, his eyes go wide.

He blinks rapidly, heat prickling the back of his neck. He scrambles to recover, clearing his throat and forcing a casual shrug.

“I mean—” he rushes out, willing his voice to stay steady. “I’m totally cool with that. Louis would be thrilled, I think.”

His palms feel clammy against the handles of the machine. He forces himself to keep his expression neutral, even as his heart pounds in his throat.

Harry, oblivious, gives him a wide, goofy grin—the one that makes Louis’ stomach flip every goddamn time.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, looking suddenly bashful as he rubs the back of his neck. “You think he’d say yes?”

Louis’ smile tightens, feeling suddenly nauseous.

“Oh, definitely,” he says, voice a little too chipper.

Harry beams at him, clearly pleased, and Louis’ chest constricts painfully. He knows he should be happy—Harry wants to ask him out. He likes him. And yet, the alpha is standing there, oblivious to the fact that Louis has been lying to him this whole time about who he really is. 

The sting of it makes Louis’ throat tighten.

But before he can dwell on it, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye.

Zoey is leaning against the mirrored wall, talking with one of her friends. Her arms are crossed over her chest, fingers playing idly with the hem of her shirt. But her eyes—her eyes—are fixed firmly on Louis.

Her lips are slightly downturned, a faint pout tugging at the corners of her mouth, and her brow furrows with something suspiciously close to disappointment.

Louis stiffens.

The last thing he wants is Zoey thinking he’s into her just because he told her at the carnival that Levi had mentioned her. He shifts on the bench, looking away quickly, silently hoping she’ll drop it.

But when he glances back a moment later, she’s no longer watching him.

She’s watching Harry.

And her lips slowly curl into a devious smirk.

Louis’ stomach drops.

He knows that look. That self-satisfied, predatory gleam in her eyes. It’s the look of someone who wants something—and knows exactly how to get it.

His heart clenches painfully as he watches her casually push off the wall and saunter over to Harry, her hips swaying with an exaggerated roll.

Louis’ hands clench around the handles of the machine.

She comes to a stop just beside the alpha, leaning slightly into his space with a coy smile. She places one hand lightly on his arm—his bicep—and gives it an appreciative squeeze.

“Harry,” she purrs, her voice syrupy sweet and deliberately flirtatious, “I never noticed how in shape you were.” Her eyes trail over his chest in a slow, deliberate sweep before flicking briefly to Louis, making sure he’s watching.

Bitch.

She turns back to Harry, her fingers still tracing his arm. “You look like you know how to throw an omega around.”

Louis’ eyes narrow, his blood simmering. His nails bite into the padded handles of the machine.

That manipulative little—

And the worst part? Harry fucking falls for it.

The alpha blinks, startled by the sudden attention. He stammers slightly, clearly flustered, his ears turning pink beneath the damp curls clinging to his forehead.

“Um,” he sputters awkwardly, eyes darting briefly toward the floor. “Thanks, Zoey.”

Louis’ stomach curdles at the sight of the bashful, boyish smile Harry gives her—the same soft, sheepish grin he wore when they kissed at the carnival.

His chest tightens.

He can’t just sit here and watch this. Watch her make him blush. Watch her touch him like she has any right.

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s on his feet, stalking towards them with a forced, saccharine smile plastered on his face.

“Zoey!” he calls sweetly, the brightness in his voice laced with venom.

The omega turns at the sound of her name, her lips twitching into a self-satisfied smirk. “Oh, hey, Levi,” she coos innocently, as if she hasn’t just been draping herself over his alpha.

Louis forces a breezy laugh, barely masking the irritation in his voice. “What are you doing?” he asks, cocking his head with mock-curiosity.

Zoey’s eyes sparkle with faux sweetness. She feigns surprise, tilting her head in wide-eyed innocence.

“Oh, just talking to Harry,” she says lightly. “You know… like you told me to do.”

Her eyes glimmer with mischief as she glances at Louis, as if to say, You told me to talk to him. You didn’t specify how.

Louis’ jaw tightens, but he smiles even wider. Two can play at this game.

He turns to Harry with an exaggerated look of surprise, as though the thought has only just occurred to him.

“But, Harry!” he gasps, placing his hands on his hips. “What about my brother? You two really hit it off at the carnival. You were just telling me that you were going to ask him out tonight.”

He lets the words hang in the air, eyes sparkling with feigned innocence, but there’s a sharpness in his voice—a challenge.

Harry’s eyes widen slightly, caught completely off guard. His lips part as if he’s about to respond.

But before he can, Zoey’s voice cuts through the tension, smug and triumphant.

“Well, he can’t,” she interjects smoothly, voice syrupy sweet, “because he’s going out with me. Tonight. Right, Harry?”

Harry’s gaze flickers with confusion but, still flustered, he nods.

His heart sinks but he’s not about to let them get away with this that easily.

He flashes his brightest, most charming smile, the sharp edge of his teeth barely concealed.

“How about a double date?” he suggests airily, voice deceptively casual. “I’ll bring a date and we can all meet up for dinner.”

He feels Harry’s eyes snap to him instantly, the alpha’s frown deepening.

There’s no mistaking the flicker of displeasure in Harry’s gaze—the subtle downturn of his lips. The way his brows pinch, like he wants to protest. Like he doesn’t want Louis there.

But Louis ignores it.

Zoey, on the other hand, grins widely, clearly too smug to notice the tension. She gives an overly enthusiastic nod.

“Sounds like a plan,” she chirps, flashing Harry a coy smile before turning back to Louis. Her eyes glimmer with challenge, lips curling into a wicked smirk. “See ya later, Harry. Levi.”

She walks away with a sway in her hips, her parting smile pointedly directed at Louis rather than Harry.

Louis’ throat tightens, stomach coiling into knots.

He barely registers it when Harry bumps his arm, the alpha’s voice cutting into his daze.

“A double date?” Harry’s voice is low, barely masking his irritation. His gaze hardens slightly, jaw tight. “Seriously, Levi?”

The low, rumbling disapproval in his tone makes Louis’ omega instincts recoil slightly.

He shrinks under the alpha’s scrutiny, guilt settling heavily in his chest. His throat bobs as he drops his gaze.

“Sorry,” he mutters softly, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry lets out a heavy sigh, then shakes his head and turns away. Without another word, he walks off, leaving Louis standing there, blinking back the sting behind his eyes.

And all he can think is:

Where the hell is he going to find a date on such short notice?

***

Turns out, finding a date with only three hours’ notice on a Saturday night is about as easy as walking through a hurricane with an umbrella.

Which is why Louis ends up with Eugene Price.

The dorkiest, oddest male omega he’s ever known.

Eugene is nice—in the way that an overly friendly lab partner is nice. He’s polite, agreeable, and always quick to share his notes. But he also makes strange, guttural noises when he chews, has a permanent case of the sniffles, and currently sports a mouthful of headgear that makes it impossible for him to close his lips properly.

But, unfortunately, Eugene was the only person available on such short notice.

So now, Louis is walking into the restaurant with Eugene trailing awkwardly behind him, still dabbing at his nose with a crumpled tissue.

As they step inside, Louis’ eyes immediately scan the room. It doesn’t take long to spot Harry and Zoey sitting together in a booth near the back.

And the sight makes him slow to a stop.

They both look… bored.

Harry is slouched slightly in his seat, his elbow propped on the table, cheek resting in his hand. His fingers absentmindedly fidget with the corner of his napkin, and his eyes flicker disinterestedly toward the window, clearly daydreaming about being anywhere else.

Zoey doesn’t seem any more engaged. Her eyes slightly glazed as she absently stirs her drink with a straw, barely even looking at Harry. Her lips are pursed into a faint pout, and she glances down at her nails with disinterest, inspecting them as if she’s already regretting agreeing to this date.

Louis’ stomach loosens slightly in relief.

Maybe they’re not hitting it off.

But then—Harry spots him.

And just like that, everything changes.

The second the alpha’s eyes land on him, his entire face lights up.

His bored, disinterested expression vanishes instantly, replaced by something warmer and far more genuine. His eyes brighten, his lips part slightly in surprise, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a faint, almost involuntary smile.

It’s so boyish and unguarded that Louis’ breath catches slightly.

Harry immediately straightens in his seat, his entire posture perking up. His dimples flash, and his eyes soften with visible relief as he eagerly waves them over.

For a brief, fleeting moment, it almost feels like it’s just the two of them.

But then, Zoey’s eyes follow Harry’s gaze—and the second she sees Louis, her entire demeanor shifts.

Her brows lift slightly in recognition, and then her eyes narrow faintly. Her lips slowly curve into a coy, knowing smile, and her posture straightens slightly.

And before Louis can even register what’s happening, she suddenly leans closer to Harry.

Her eyes soften with sudden interest, and she angles her body toward him, placing her hand lightly on his forearm.

She was interested after all.

And he instantly feels like an idiot for thinking otherwise.

Of course Zoey likes Harry. What’s not to like? He’s charming, sweet, and gorgeous. It was stupid of him to think she’d let him slip away so easily.

Especially when Louis had practically handed her the opportunity on a silver platter.

He forces a smile and makes his way over, his chest tightening slightly at the sight of Zoey’s fingers curling lightly around Harry’s bicep.

The worst part is Harry doesn’t push her away.

In fact, when Louis reaches the table, Harry greets him with a broad, bright smile. His eyes are warm, genuine, and almost too happy to see him.

But Zoey?

Her entire expression shifts into something far more seductive. Her eyes darken with interest, and her lips pull into a slow, teasing smirk as she trails her nails faintly over Harry’s arm, like she suddenly can’t keep her hands off him.

And that’s when Louis knows he’s fucked.

Because she’s into Harry. Like, actually into him.

And it feels like a punch to the gut.

He slides stiffly into the booth, Eugene awkwardly plopping down beside him.

”Hi, Eugene. Levi,” Zoey smiles, her gaze lingering on Louis before returning her attention to Harry  

And that’s when the real nightmare begins.

Zoey instantly kicks things into overdrive.

She subtly shifts closer to Harry, her fingers tightening slightly around his bicep as she leans into his side. Her eyes soften into an adoring gaze, and her lips curl into a playful pout as she looks up at him from beneath her lashes. She makes a show of tilting her chin and dragging her fingers lightly over his forearm, like she’s trying to memorize the shape of it.

Louis’ nails dig into his palms beneath the table.

She’s good at this. Almost too good.

And Harry—bless him—looks completely out of his depth.

The alpha’s smile is awkward and tight, his shoulders visibly stiff beneath her touch. His eyes flicker toward Louis far more often than toward Zoey, and he occasionally offers him subtle, pleading glances as if asking for some kind of rescue.

But Zoey doesn’t seem to notice. Or care.

She only seems to double down.

She lifts Harry’s hand in both of hers, lightly tracing his knuckles with her thumb, voice dropping to a sultry purr.

“So, Harry,” she practically coos, tilting her head flirtatiously, “you look really good tonight.”

Her eyes sweep over him with exaggerated appreciation, lingering deliberately on the open collar of his shirt.

“Like… really good,” she adds, lowering her voice suggestively.

She squeezes his arm slightly and trails her nails faintly down his bicep, slow and deliberate.

Harry’s lips press into a thin line. His eyes flicker toward Louis again—almost guiltily—but he forces out a stiff, “Uh, thanks.”

Louis’ jaw clenches.

Desperate to keep himself busy, he stiffly turns to Eugene, determined to play along.

He flashes Eugene a bright, overly friendly smile and places a hand lightly on his shoulder, hoping to at least appear interested.

But the second his hand makes contact, Eugene jerks in surprise.

The omega lets out a sharp, startled gasp and immediately starts wheezing slightly, frantically fumbling for another tissue. He honks into it like a distressed goose, sniffling wetly as he wipes his nose.

Louis’ smile falters instantly.

His hand slowly retracts, and he subtly scoots an inch away from the sniffling omega.

Meanwhile, Zoey continues her performance, completely ignoring Harry’s visible discomfort.

She brushes her fingers lightly along the alpha’s knuckles, flashing Louis a sultry glance.

And then—without warning—she leans in and presses her lips to Harry’s neck.

Slow and deliberate.

Louis’ stomach plummets.

He can’t watch this.

His chair scrapes loudly against the floor as he abruptly stands. His voice comes out sharp and clipped.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, barely breathing. “I just remembered my… my rut might start.”

Without waiting for a reaction, he turns and practically bolts from the restaurant, his heart pounding violently in his chest.

He doesn’t spare any of them a second glance.

He just needs to get out.

***

Louis doesn’t go back to the dorm.

Not when the ache in his chest still feels raw, hot, and bitter. Not when he knows he’ll just end up pacing the tiny room, stewing in the heavy, sinking weight of seeing her drape herself all over him.

Instead, he heads to the soccer field.

It’s quiet this time of night, the entire campus cloaked in a heavy, post-rain stillness. The storm from earlier has passed, but the field is still damp, the grass slick and glistening beneath the amber glow of the stadium lights. The faint scent of rain-soaked earth lingers in the cool night air, sharp and grounding.

The familiar scent makes his chest loosen slightly.

Without bothering to change out of his jeans and sneakers, he grabs one of the soccer balls from the rack by the benches and starts kicking it around, taking aim at the goal.

He dribbles up and down the field, sending the ball between his feet with quick, precise touches. It’s sloppy at first, his movements still stiff and clumsy from the lingering frustration gnawing at his limbs. But after a while, the rhythm starts to smooth out.

Kick. Pivot. Shoot.

Kick. Pivot. Shoot.

He loses himself in the motion, focusing solely on the solid, satisfying thud of his shoe connecting with the ball, the sharp smack of it hitting the back of the net.

Sweat sticks to his temples and his breath comes out in soft, steady pants, but he doesn’t stop. The tension slowly bleeds from his body with each strike, leaving him lighter, more centered.

He’s so caught up in his head—so focused on chasing the heavy, bitter weight from his chest—that he doesn’t even notice he has an audience.

“I thought you were going into rut?”

The familiar, teasing drawl cuts through the silence, and Louis’ foot fumbles against the ball, sending it veering off to the side.

His head snaps up toward the voice.

There—leaning casually against the goalpost with his arms crossed over his chest, an amused smirk tugging at his lips—is Harry.

The alpha’s curls are wild and damp from the rain, loose tendrils clinging to his forehead. His dark jeans are snug against his thighs, and his white t-shirt clings to his chest, slightly damp with humidity, showcasing the lean muscle beneath.

He looks good. Stupidly good.

Louis’ heart stutters slightly in his chest, but he quickly schools his expression, reaching down to snag the ball and shrugging lightly.

“False alarm,” he says coolly, toeing the ball back into place.

Harry arches a brow, clearly not buying it. His smirk widens slightly, the corner of his lip quirking in barely contained amusement.

“Right,” he drawls, leaning more heavily against the goalpost. “Because ruts are known for being unpredictable like that.”

Louis rolls his eyes and huffs out an exasperated sigh, turning his back to the alpha and kicking another goal—harder this time.

He doesn’t miss the way Harry chuckles softly under his breath, clearly enjoying the sight of him bristling.

But when the alpha speaks again, Louis’ foot falters slightly.

“Shouldn’t you be off canoodling with Zoey?” he mutters, keeping his back turned and forcing his voice into something cold and disinterested. “She was all over you.”

He grits his teeth, trying his best to sound casual, but he can still feel his inner omega whining pathetically in the back of his mind.

Touching him like that. Kissing his neck. Squeezing his arm.

Harry hums softly behind him, slow and deliberate.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low and almost… amused. “Until you left.”

Louis’ brow furrows slightly at the strange note in his voice, but before he can turn around, Harry adds, “Then she left with Eugene, leaving me in the dust.”

Louis’ head snaps up.

“What?” he blurts, spinning around to face him.

Harry shrugs easily, his lips twitching into a faint smirk, clearly amused by Louis’ sudden interest.

“Yeah,” he says with a casual drawl, as though it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Zoey and Eugene left together not even ten minutes after you did.” His eyes glimmer with mock innocence as he adds, “Didn’t even stick around for dessert.”

Louis’ mouth parts slightly, caught off guard.

What the hell?

He frowns, confused. He’d seen the way Zoey had practically draped herself over Harry all night, touching him constantly, leaning into him, batting her lashes like she wanted to drag him into the nearest coat closet. It had made Louis feel like he was going to be sick.

And now, she just… left? With Eugene?

He doesn’t get it.

He blinks a few times, still processing, before muttering, “Huh. Weird.”

Harry snorts softly, clearly unimpressed. “Not really.”

Louis glances at him sharply, brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

Harry pushes off the goalpost and slowly starts walking toward him, hands tucked casually into his pockets. His long legs eat up the distance with a lazy, self-assured stride.

“I mean,” he drawls, “the only person Zoey seemed interested in tonight was you.”

Louis’ stomach flips violently.

“No, she wasn’t,” he scoffs quickly, his voice just a little too sharp, too defensive. He snorts in disbelief, turning away slightly and kicking at the ball to avoid the alpha’s gaze. “She was all over you. Like she was ready to hop on your knot right there at the table.”

Harry lets out a short, disbelieving laugh behind him.

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, voice teasing but firm. “The whole date was just her trying to make you jealous.”

Louis’ breath catches slightly. His fingers flex against the fabric of his jeans, clenching into his thighs.

She was into Harry. She was flirting with him all night. She had her hands all over him.

Harry’s voice drops slightly, low and smooth.

“She only ever touched me when you were looking.”

Louis’ jaw clenches tightly. He refuses to turn around.

“She kissed my neck the second you looked our way. Not a moment before,” Harry continues softly, his tone measured, almost amused, as though he’s enjoying how flustered Louis is getting. “And she only invited me out when she knew you were watching.”

Louis’ grip on the ball tightens, knuckles blanching. His throat bobs harshly as he swallows.

“Zoey was playing games,” Harry murmurs, voice growing closer with each word. He’s walking slowly, circling him like a predator sizing up its prey. “And you fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.”

Louis whirls around, glaring. “I didn’t fall for anything!” he snaps, voice sharp and defensive.

Harry’s lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Didn’t you?”

There’s a beat of silence—heavy, charged.

Louis’ chest heaves slightly, his fingers twitching against the ball. His heart is pounding in his ears, his limbs buzzing with a hot mixture of anger, embarrassment, and frustration.

He feels so fucking stupid.

Harry steps closer. Close enough that Louis can smell the faint trace of cedar and pine beneath the musk of his sweat. His sharp green eyes narrow slightly, studying him with a lazy kind of curiosity.

Then, just when Louis is about to shove him away, the alpha leans in a fraction.

His voice dips lower, smooth and teasing.

“Why’d you leave, Levi?” he murmurs softly. “Couldn’t handle seeing us together?”

Louis’ eyes widen slightly. He inhales sharply, his pulse stuttering.

“Fuck off,” he mutters quickly, shoving at Harry’s chest, but the alpha barely budges. His broad frame is solid and warm beneath Louis’ palms, and the scent of him is dizzying this close.

Harry just chuckles darkly, undeterred. His hand shoots out, grabbing Louis’ wrist before he can pull away, fingers closing firmly but gently around him. His grip is steady, warm, and unyielding, threatening Louis to go pliant in his hold.

“I can’t help but wonder,” Harry murmurs lowly, voice rich and syrupy, “were you jealous of me… or jealous of her?”

Louis’ breath catches sharply. His stomach clenches so violently it nearly knocks the wind out of him.

He stares at Harry, wide-eyed and speechless, every nerve in his body sparking under the heat of the alpha’s touch. He can’t think straight—not with the roughness of Harry’s palm wrapped around his wrist, anchoring him in place.

And certainly not with those words still hanging heavy in the damp air between them.

His chest tightens painfully. His throat bobs in a hard swallow.

He knows the answer.

But Harry isn’t done.

The alpha’s eyes drag lazily over him, heavy-lidded and curious, his gaze tracing down the slender line of Louis’ arm, over his narrow wrist, and then back up again. His lips twitch into a crooked smirk.

“You know…” Harry muses softly, his voice barely above a murmur but thick with suggestion, “you’re very dainty for an alpha.”

Louis’ blood runs cold.

His pulse jumps violently, thundering in his ears. He immediately jerks at his wrist, trying to yank free, but Harry’s grip tightens instinctively. Not cruelly—just firmly enough to keep him in place.

Louis panics, heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his throat.

“Let go,” he mutters sharply, twisting his arm, but Harry’s fingers only flex around him, holding him still with humiliating ease.

The alpha’s eyes glimmer with faint amusement, lips curling slightly. His voice dips even lower, teasing but still disarmingly soft.

“See?” he says, tilting his head, his green eyes glittering with something close to wonder. “You can’t even free yourself from my grip and I’m barely using any strength.”

Louis swallows hard, his throat suddenly too tight to breathe properly.

“You’re so dainty and delicate…” Harry continues slowly, his thumb dragging ever so lightly against the inside of Louis’ wrist, feeling the faint flutter of his pulse. His voice lowers to a rough, almost reverent murmur.

“I have to admit…” His eyes darken slightly, gaze lingering on Louis’ parted lips. “I’ve never been this attracted to another alpha before.”

Louis’ stomach plummets. His blood rushes in his ears.

His breath quickens as he writhes weakly in Harry’s hold, trying to free himself again, but his limbs feel uncoordinated and useless. The alpha’s grip is too strong, too steady—he could snap him in half if he wanted.

And somehow, that realization is the worst part.

Because deep down—deep in the marrow of his bones where his omega hides—he wants that strength. Craves it. He aches to surrender, to let Harry handle him, hold him down, pin him—

No.

Panic claws at his chest. His breath stutters and he feels his face flush with heat.

“Harry, please let go,” he forces out, his voice cracking slightly, barely above a whisper. His fingers curl weakly into a fist, feeble and trembling.

“I just—” his throat bobs roughly, “—I just want to shower and sleep.”

His voice is thin and uneven, but he’s proud that it doesn’t break entirely.

For a moment, Harry doesn’t let go.

He just stares at him, eyes unreadable, fingers still curled loosely around Louis’ wrist. His thumb lingers there a fraction longer than necessary, like he’s memorizing the fragile flutter of Louis’ pulse beneath the skin.

Then, slowly—finally—Harry releases him, holding his hands up in surrender. His gaze stays locked on Louis, watching him closely, carefully.

But just as Louis thinks he’s free, Harry’s voice cuts through the thick silence, stopping him in his tracks.

“Levi…” the alpha says quietly, almost too soft, too casual.

Louis turns slightly, his back still half to him, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

Then Harry cocks his head ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing just a touch in curiosity. His voice is soft, almost conversational, but the weight of his words makes Louis’ chest cave in.

“Why do you wear neutralizers?”

Louis freezes.

His breath stutters violently. His heart seizes in his chest.

For a brief, paralyzing moment, he forgets how to move. How to breathe.

Harry watches him carefully, his sharp eyes catching every tiny microexpression—the slight flinch of his shoulders, the brief flicker of panic in his eyes, the subtle twitch of his fingers.

It’s barely a beat—a fleeting second—but Louis knows it’s enough.

He forces himself to turn around, pasting on the most indifferent, casual expression he can muster.

He shrugs lightly, like it’s nothing. “I don’t like my natural scent,” he lies easily, feigning nonchalance. His voice is level, almost bored, as he offers the excuse, as though it’s just a minor preference. A trivial quirk.

Harry’s eyes narrow slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging into a subtle frown.

For a moment, he just studies Louis, head tilted slightly, gaze dark and searching. He doesn’t say anything.

And that’s what makes it worse.

The silence feels heavy—far heavier than it should.

Louis can feel the weight of Harry’s scrutiny, the sharpness of his stare. The alpha doesn’t believe him. He knows he doesn’t.

But Louis doesn’t give him the chance to press further.

Without another word, he turns sharply on his heel and stalks off across the field.

He doesn’t look back.

His Converse crunch over the damp grass, his breath shallow and uneven, his legs stiff and shaky with adrenaline.

He can feel Harry’s gaze boring into his back the entire way across the field.

And even after he’s long out of sight, he swears he can still feel it.

***

After his shower, Louis heads back to the dorm, his hair still damp and clinging to his temples. His muscles ache pleasantly from the evening’s practice but the hot water did little to loosen the lingering tension in his chest.

But as soon as he steps into the room, his feet stutter slightly.

Harry is already there.

The alpha is sitting on his bed, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees, his fingers loosely linked. His curls hang in messy, disheveled spirals, pushed back by a head scarf and his skin glows faintly in the light of the desk lamp. He’s in nothing but a pair of sweats, and the sight of him—the broadness of his shoulders, the toned lines of his chest, the sharp cut of his collarbones—makes Louis’ stomach twist painfully.

God, he’s beautiful.

Louis’ hands curl slightly into the cuffs of his sleeves, suddenly feeling too warm despite the lingering chill from the night air clinging to his skin.

For a fleeting moment, he aches—truly aches—to just tell him.

To let the words spill out.

To tell Harry the truth. That he’s not actually an alpha. That his scent is a lie. That he’s been hiding himself away behind neutralizers and bravado. 

But the Whitfield game is coming up. It’s too soon.

He can’t risk everything—not yet.

So he tamps it all down, like he always does, and he forces himself to meet Harry’s eyes, pasting on a carefully neutral expression.

But the moment their gazes meet, Louis falters slightly.

Because Harry’s face is soft. Apologetic.

The alpha straightens slightly, clearing his throat. His hands fall to his thighs, fingers flexing briefly like he’s unsure of what to do with them. He exhales slowly before speaking.

“Levi…” Harry’s voice is low and steady, but there’s a note of genuine remorse in it. “I just want to say that I’m sorry.”

Louis’ brows lift slightly, confused by the sudden earnestness in his tone.

Harry shifts a little, his shoulders sagging slightly. His eyes are warm and sincere, fixed intently on Louis’.

“I shouldn’t have questioned you about the neutralizer,” he says quietly. “That’s your business. I—I crossed a line. And…” his lips press together briefly before he exhales sharply, eyes dropping slightly to his hands, “you being a little smaller doesn’t make you any less of an alpha. I shouldn’t have intentionally made you uncomfortable.”

His voice lowers slightly, quieter now, but no less genuine.

“So, yeah…” he murmurs, lifting his gaze again. “I’m really sorry.”

Louis freezes, caught entirely off guard.

His eyes widen slightly, blinking once, twice, as the words settle over him.

He’s apologizing.

And not in the half-assed, dismissive way most alphas do when they’re trying to smooth things over. Harry means it. It’s written all over his face—in the furrow of his brow, in the slight tilt of his head, in the softness of his eyes.

He swallows thickly, his chest feeling almost too tight, and he can’t help the small, genuine smile that creeps across his face. His omega practically preens at the alpha’s sincerity.

“It’s okay, Harry,” he says softly, his voice warmer than he intends. “It just caught me off guard, that’s all. And…” he shrugs lightly, forcing a playful smirk despite the ache in his chest, “the whole Zoey thing had me on edge anyway. But we’re cool.”

Harry’s eyes search his for a beat, and whatever tension had lingered between them begins to dissolve.

The alpha exhales softly, his lips twitching into a half-smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence, just the quiet hum of the heater and the faint patter of rain still clinging to the windowsill.

Then Harry shifts slightly, leaning forward just a bit, his eyes suddenly alight with something lighter, brighter—hopeful.

“I want to make up for it,” he says suddenly.

Louis blinks, slightly confused by the shift in tone. “Huh?”

Harry’s grin widens slightly. “How about I help you with soccer?”

Louis’ brows knit faintly. “Help me?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s eyes flash with excitement, the playful grin tugging higher at the corners of his lips. “I could practice with you. Give you some tips, help you with your form. Y’know…” his eyes glimmer with something teasing, “so maybe by the game on Saturday, Coach will finally get his head out of his ass and make you first string.”

Louis’ chest warms despite himself, a grin tugging at his lips before he can stop it.

The alpha is so charming, so effortlessly sweet, it makes his knees feel weak.

He can’t stop the soft, breathless laugh that escapes him.

“Well…” he drawls playfully, feigning consideration, tilting his head slightly, “I can’t say no to that.”

He lets his grin stretch a little wider, voice light and teasing. “Thanks, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, his dimples flashing. His smile is big and unguarded, bright enough to make Louis’ stomach flip.

“No problem,” he says softly, his eyes lingering on Louis just a beat longer than necessary.

For a fleeting moment, Louis lets himself imagine it.

What it would feel like to just step closer. To let the distance between them disappear. To tilt his head up and catch Harry’s mouth with his own.

To let himself get wet from the touch of Harry’s hands on his body. 

He swallows hard, blinking the thought away.

Instead, he throws himself onto his bed, feigning nonchalance as he pulls out his phone, hoping the heat in his cheeks isn’t as obvious as it feels.

But he catches the way Harry watches him from across the room—soft, fond, and lingering.

And for just a moment, Louis lets himself think that maybe Harry’s heart is racing just as fast as his own.

***

The next few days pass in a blur of tangled emotions.

Louis throws himself into soccer, spending every spare moment practicing. And true to his word, Harry is there with him, offering tips, correcting his form, and pushing him harder with each session.

At first, Louis considers telling him to piss off, because he knows getting closer to Harry makes keeping his secret that much harder. 

But he doesn’t.

Because as much as the alpha makes him weary, Louis wants him there.

He wants Harry’s sharp voice in his ear, guiding him. He wants the weight of his hands on his hips, adjusting his stance. He wants the alpha’s lingering touches under the guise of ‘correction’—his warm palm splaying low against his back, his fingers brushing over his wrist.

And he wants the way Harry looks at him—the glimmer of heat and pride in his eyes whenever Louis nails a shot or pulls off a clean trick.

He knows he’s in dangerous territory, and he knows he should be putting distance between them.

But he can’t.

Not when it feels this good.

He’s so caught up in the time he’s been spending with Harry that he nearly forgets about the Society luncheon his mom roped him into.

It’s only when she calls him the morning of to remind him—“Don’t you dare show up without a turtleneck, Louis William Tomlinson!”—that he groans in frustration, realizing he has no choice but to go.

Which is how he ends up sitting stiffly at a perfectly polished table in the middle of a sea of preppy, upper-crust omegas, fiddling with the absurd number of forks and spoons laid out before him, wondering if stabbing himself with one of them might be his only way out.

He’s surrounded by simpering, posh omegas, all dressed in pristine outfits with perfectly styled hair and prim, delicate smiles.

And all of them—in their ridiculous collars and tight-laced propriety—make him want to fucking gag.

He glances around the table, watching the other omegas nod dutifully, all enraptured by the regressive sermon.

Across the room, his eyes catch on Zoey.

She’s seated a few tables over, wearing a petal-pink turtleneck and a pristine white collar, looking as though she was born for this kind of event. Her hair is styled in soft waves, and she smiles sweetly at the other omegas around her, engaging in polite, fluttering conversation.

Louis averts his eyes and sits stiffly in his chair, trying not to squirm beneath the suffocating fabric of his blue turtleneck. It’s too tight around his neck, the wool irritating his skin, and he resists the urge to scratch at it. His mom had practically begged him to attend the Brooks Omega Society luncheon, claiming it would be “good for him” to mingle with other omegas.

He glances around the room at the sea of pastel sweaters and leather collars. Posh, preppy, proper.

He feels wildly out of place.

The president of the society, Mrs. Fairchild, stands at the front of the room, her voice droning on with the same tired rhetoric. She’s an older omega, perfectly put together in a beige turtleneck dress, brown collar and pearl earrings, her silver hair in a sleek bun.

Her voice is high and sharp, full of practiced condescension.

“Being a proper omega is the key to a happy life,” she intones, smiling serenely at her audience. “The purpose of today’s luncheon is to provide guidance and support so that you may continue to cultivate the virtues of a proper omega: patience, grace, and the ability to keep a happy home for your alpha.”

Louis snorts under his breath, unable to help himself, his hands gripping the napkin in his lap a little too tightly, twisting the fabric as the words grate at his ears.

But the sound comes out louder than he intends. Much louder.

The room goes dead silent.

Every head turns toward him.

Mrs. Fairchild’s voice cuts off mid-sentence, and she swivels toward him with a frosty glare, her thin lips pursing in disapproval.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” she says with a sharp edge, her voice practically dripping with condescension. “Do you have something to add?”

Her eyes are cold and unyielding, her distaste for him barely concealed. She’s never liked him. Not since the first Society event he attended. He’s always been too mouthy, too irreverent, too unwilling to play the part of the docile, pliant omega.

The only reason she tolerates him is out of respect for his mother.

But the sneer on her face makes it clear she would rather toss him out the nearest window.

Louis doesn’t flinch. Instead, he leans back slightly in his chair, fixing her with a slow, syrupy smile that he knows will get under her skin.

“Well…” he drawls, tapping a manicured nail lightly against the tablecloth. “Now that you’re mentioning it, I do have a question.”

He cocks his head slightly, feigning polite curiosity.

“Do you guys think that being an omega is just code for being a slave to your alpha’s every want and need? Or is that just this club’s mission statement?”

Gasps echo around the room, the sharp intake of breath from the scandalized omegas almost comical.

Mrs. Fairchild’s eyes narrow, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

“Well,” she says coolly, her voice dripping with smugness. “We must be doing something right, Louis. After all, we have alphas.” Her eyes glimmer with condescension. “You’d be wise to take notes.”

Louis lets out a sharp bark of laughter, thoroughly unimpressed.

“The minute I take notes from you,” he says dryly, gesturing lazily to the pristine collars on display, “is the minute I start wearing a dog collar.” He says, shooting her a saccharine grin.

“This turtleneck is already ridiculous enough,” he adds with a casual shrug. “If an alpha pops a knot just from seeing my neck, it says a hell of a lot more about them than it does me.”

The room practically erupts in gasps.

Several of the more delicate omegas press dainty hands to their throats, scandalized by his crude language. A few elderly matrons look on the verge of fainting, fanning themselves with their place cards.

Mrs. Fairchild’s eyes flash with barely concealed fury, her lips curling downward into a scowl.

“Observe carefully, omegas,” she says sharply, her voice cutting through the room with disdain. She gestures toward Louis with a sweep of her hand. “This is what not to be.”

Her words sting more than he wants to admit.

Louis rolls his eyes, feeling the suffocating weight of the judgment in the room.

He has to get out of here.

Without a word, he pushes back his chair and strides out of the dining hall, the disapproving murmurs following him out.

The omega bathroom is empty when he enters, the only sound is the faint hum of fluorescent lighting.

He walks to the sink, gripping the edges of the porcelain basin, and stares at his reflection.

The blue turtleneck makes his eyes look even bluer, but the fabric is itchy against his throat. His fringe is a little damp from the humidity in the room, clinging slightly to his forehead.

He tugs at the collar of the turtleneck irritably, suddenly feeling like it’s suffocating him.

Letting out a breath, he turns on the tap and splashes cold water onto his face, hoping it will calm the heat burning in his cheeks.

When he straightens, he freezes slightly, catching sight of someone in the mirror.

Zoey is standing by the counter, touching up her makeup with practiced swipes of her lip gloss. She glances over at him through the mirror, meeting his eyes.

Her expression shifts instantly, a wide, sweet smile blooming across her face.

“Hey, Louis, right?” she chirps, turning toward him with a bright grin. “It’s me—Zoey! From the kissing booth!”

Her voice is so bubbly and cutesy that it throws him off guard. It’s disarming, even.

“Oh, hey,” he mutters, forcing a polite smile. “Good to see you.”

He moves to wash his hands, but his curiosity gets the better of him. The question tumbles out before he can stop it.

“Hey, just making small talk but I heard you went on a date with Harry Styles,” he says casually, though his tone comes out far too sharp.

Zoey’s smile falters briefly. “Oh. Yeah, I did.”

Louis clenches his jaw slightly. He tries to sound disinterested, but the words come out stiff and tight.

“So you’re totally into him, right?”

Zoey blinks, then lets out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Um, no, actually.” She glances at him, almost sheepish. “I only went on the date with Harry to make your brother jealous.” She shrugs lightly, her smile wry. “But I don’t even think he noticed.”

Louis’ breath catches.

For a moment, he feels like the floor tilts slightly beneath his feet.

Harry was right.

She was using the alpha, just like Harry said. The whole thing was just a ploy to get to Levi.

Realization washes over him, and he nearly laughs at how ridiculous the whole situation is.

“So you have a crush on Levi?” he asks, a faint grin tugging at his lips.

Zoey beams, her eyes lighting up. “Yeah,” she sighs dreamily. “He’s just so sweet and caring and in touch with his sensitive side. So unlike any alpha I’ve ever met.”

Louis nearly snorts at the irony.

But before he can reply, one of the stall doors slams open with a sharp bang.

Natalie stalks out, her eyes narrowed into a menacing glare.

“You better back off, omega,” she sneers, planting a hand on her hip. “Because I’m Levi’s girlfriend.”

Zoey stiffens. “Excuse me?” she scoffs, crossing her arms.

Louis steps in before Zoey can respond, his voice flat.

“You’re his ex-girlfriend, Nat. Get over it. You’re getting pathetic.”

“Oh, shut up Louis, you’re just jealous because no alpha loves you,” the beta sneers, and okay, ouch. 

Zoey smirks, turning to Natalie with a triumphant glint. “Now I know why he dumped you,” she snipes, her eyes flashing. “You’re a raging bitch.”

Louis grins proudly at Zoey’s sharp retort, his chest swelling with satisfaction. ‘Raging bitch’ was putting it lightly. Finally, someone was calling Natalie out for the clingy, possessive nightmare she was.

But the moment of pride is short-lived.

Because suddenly, Natalie lets out an ear-piercing screech, her face contorting with rage.

Before Louis can blink, she lunges at Zoey, her manicured nails latching onto the other omega’s hair with a violent yank.

“You little slut!” Natalie snarls, twisting Zoey’s curls viciously in her fist.

Zoey shrieks, clawing at Natalie’s wrist, trying to pry her off. She stumbles slightly in her heels but quickly regains her footing, grabbing a fistful of Natalie’s hair in retaliation.

And just like that, they’re brawling.

Louis’ eyes widen in disbelief as the omega and beta begin pulling and grappling at each other like wild animals, shrieking and hissing with full-blown fury.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—” Louis mutters under his breath before instinctively stepping in.

He rushes toward them, shoving his arms between their flailing limbs, trying to pry them apart.

“Hey! Enough!” he barks, his voice sharp.

But neither of them seems remotely interested in listening to reason.

Zoey screeches as Natalie yanks hard on her hair again, making her head snap back. With a furious growl, Zoey retaliates by stomping down on Natalie’s foot with her sharp heel, causing the beta to yelp in pain.

“You psycho!” Zoey snarls, yanking Natalie’s hair so hard that her head jerks to the side.

Natalie screeches in fury, her eyes wild. “You homewrecking whore!”

Louis grits his teeth and shoves himself between them, desperately trying to wedge them apart.

“Stop it!” he yells, struggling to keep his balance as their limbs flail.

But the moment he grabs Zoey’s arm, Natalie shoves at his chest with both hands. Louis stumbles back, and before he can regain his footing, Zoey’s elbow clips him square in the ribs.

“Ow! Fucking shit!” he hisses, staggering slightly from the unexpected blow.

The three of them stumble into the counter, sending a row of makeup compacts and perfume bottles clattering to the floor.

“Let me go, you psycho bitch!” Zoey shrieks, swatting at Natalie’s face.

Natalie snarls in return, her nails swiping dangerously close to Zoey’s cheek.

And just when Louis is about to scream for help, the bathroom door suddenly slams open with a thunderous bang.

Mrs. Fairchild storms in, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, her expression twisted into a look of pure outrage.

“ENOUGH!” she bellows, her voice reverberating through the room like a gunshot.

The commotion screeches to a halt.

All three of them freeze, chests heaving, wide-eyed and disheveled.

Mrs. Fairchild sweeps her icy glare over the scene, her lips pressed into a razor-thin line of disapproval. Her sharp eyes flick from Natalie’s flushed face to Zoey’s disheveled hair, then finally land on Louis, who’s still clutching his ribs with a wince.

Her nostrils flare with barely restrained fury.

“Zoey. Louis.” Her voice is low and dangerous, dripping with disdain. “This is not how proper omegas behave.”

She glares down her nose at the pair of them like they’re nothing more than misbehaving pups.

“And you, Natalie,” she sneers, turning her venomous gaze onto the beta. “You know full well that your position here is precarious as it is because of your secondary. Do you really think throwing a tantrum like some feral animal will help your cause?”

Natalie’s eyes widen slightly at the threat, her jaw clenching. She has the audacity to look indignant, but she swallows her pride, straightening her dress with a haughty flick of her wrist.

“She started it,” she mutters, glaring daggers at Zoey.

Zoey lets out a breathless, humorless laugh. “You’re delusional.”

Mrs. Fairchild’s sharp gaze snaps back to Zoey, and her lips curl with distaste.

“I do not care who started it,” she hisses coldly. “You are both an embarrassment. Squabbling like common betas—” her eyes flick to Natalie with an icy sneer then to him, “—or worse.”

Louis stiffens slightly, his eyes narrowing at the insult, but he doesn’t dare speak.

Instead, he wipes at the faint sheen of sweat on his brow and rolls his aching shoulder with a grimace.

Mrs. Fairchild claps her hands sharply, her eyes sweeping over them in utter disdain.

“Now,” she snaps, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Fix your hair. Fix your faces. And prepare yourselves for cucumber sandwiches and melon balls.”

Louis’ stomach sinks.

The entire room is still and silent except for the sound of their heavy breathing, the tension in the air crackling like static.

Zoey’s eyes are wide and incredulous, and Louis knows she’s probably seconds away from either laughing or losing her shit again. Natalie is bristling, her lips pressed into a thin, furious line, her eyes narrowed in humiliation.

That’s it? After all the hair-pulling and shoving, that’s their punishment? A scolding and cucumber sandwiches?

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

Mrs. Fairchild gives them all one last withering glare before turning on her heel and stalking out of the room, her heels clacking sharply against the marble floor.

The second the door clicks shut behind her, the tension in the room deflates slightly.

Zoey glances over at Louis with wide eyes, still panting slightly. Then she covers her mouth with her hand and lets out a breathless laugh.

“Cucumber sandwiches,” she whispers, shaking her head in disbelief.

Louis snorts, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. “And melon balls,” he adds dryly, still clutching his side with a wince.

They glance at each other, both breaking into quiet, disbelieving giggles.

Natalie, on the other hand, looks murderous.

Her jaw clenches tightly as she glares daggers at them both, her eyes smoldering with rage.

With a sharp huff, she flips her hair over her shoulder and stomps out of the bathroom, shoving the door open with a violent swing.

Zoey watches her leave, shaking her head.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters.

Louis exhales deeply, sagging against the marble counter. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, letting the cool surface press into his back, trying to ease the tension in his body. His ribs still ache slightly where he’d been elbowed, and his wrist stings faintly where one of them had accidentally clawed him.

“You okay?” Zoey asks softly, leaning against the counter beside him.

Louis cracks one eye open, offering her a small smirk.

“I’ve had worse,” he says, rolling his shoulder with a wince.

Zoey lets out a soft laugh before reaching out and gently brushing her fingers over his wrist, inspecting the faint pink mark left by Natalie’s nails.

“Sorry for dragging you into that mess,” she murmurs, her eyes flicking up to meet his. “But thanks for, you know… not letting her rip my hair out.”

Louis huffs out a small laugh. “Anytime.”

They linger for a beat, both catching their breath. Louis’ chest still heaves slightly, but he finds himself smiling at Zoey despite the absolute chaos they just caused.

He realizes how wrong he was about Zoey. She wasn’t the uptight, traditional omega that was trying to steal his alpha way from him. She was tough and funny and sweet and everything Louis wanted in a friend. 

“I can’t believe that just happened,” she whispers, shaking her head in disbelief.

Louis chuckles, his lips twitching into a smirk. “I can’t believe we’re being punished with fucking cucumber sandwiches.”

Zoey snorts loudly, clamping a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with amusement.

Louis grins, leaning back against the counter, and for the first time since the luncheon started, he actually feels lighter.

Maybe the day isn’t a complete disaster after all.

***

Louis is practically vibrating with excitement. It’s the day before the big game against Whitfield, and despite everything—the deception, the close calls, the stress of hiding who he is—he feels good. His footwork has improved, his confidence is growing, and Harry’s been by his side every step of the way.

He’s lacing up his cleats, ready to head to practice, when his phone buzzes on the bench beside him. He glances down and sees Levi flashing across the screen.

He stiffens slightly, his fingers pausing over the laces. His stomach does a little nervous flip. He hasn’t spoken to his brother in nearly a week—too afraid to risk calling him while keeping up the alpha charade. With a deep breath, he swipes the call open and presses the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Levi. How’s New York?” he asks casually, his voice pitched lower than usual, affecting his deep, faux-alpha drawl without thinking.

There’s a beat of silence. Then:

“Why are you talking like that?” Levi’s voice is sharp with suspicion.

Louis freezes. His eyes widen slightly in panic.

He clears his throat, forcing his voice back to its normal high, raspy tone, even if it feels embarrassingly exposed.

“No reason,” he mutters, his ears flushing pink. “Anyway, I asked how New York is.”

Levi doesn’t press the issue, but Louis can still feel his brother’s frown on the other end of the line.

“Oh, it’s fantastic, Lou!” Levi says brightly, his voice bubbling with excitement. “We’ve been playing gigs every night, and we’ve actually gotten a few numbers from record labels that want to sign us!”

Louis’ lips part slightly in surprise, his heart swelling with pride. His brother sounds so happy, and Louis can practically feel his joy radiating through the phone.

“Are you serious?” he grins, his face lighting up. “Levi, that’s amazing!”

Levi chuckles warmly, the sound rich with happiness. “I know! I still can’t believe it. We’re actually being taken seriously out here. This could really be it, Lou. This could be our big break.”

Louis’ chest tightens with pride. Despite everything, he is genuinely thrilled for his twin. Levi’s been working so hard at this dream for years, pouring every ounce of his soul into his music. He deserves this.

“That’s awesome, Levi. I’m so proud of you,” he says softly, meaning every word.

“Thanks, Louis,” Levi murmurs, his voice dropping slightly, affectionate and grateful. Then he adds more seriously, “Mom and Dad still don’t suspect a thing, right?”

Louis’ stomach clenches, and his fingers tighten slightly around the phone.

“And everything’s good with Illyria?” Levi presses.

Louis’ throat bobs. His grip on the phone feels a little slippery with sweat.

He forces a smile, even though Levi can’t see him.

“Yep. Everything’s great,” he lies smoothly, making sure his voice is steady and bright.

“Good,” Levi exhales, sounding relieved. “I knew I could count on you, Lou.”

Louis’ stomach twists sharply. You have no idea.

But before Louis can say anything, Levi’s voice perks up again, almost too casual.

“Oh! By the way, you don’t have to cover for me much longer,” he says breezily.

Louis’ brows knit slightly, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I’m catching a flight back tonight,” Levi says lightly, as if he’s just announcing he’s grabbing a coffee.

Louis’ eyes widen in alarm.

“Wait. What?” he blurts, gripping the phone tighter. “You’re coming back?”

“Yeah. I need to get caught up on my schoolwork before things get too suspicious,” Levi explains, his tone easy and unconcerned. “Don’t worry. I’ll be home by morning.”

Louis’ stomach drops.

His heart slams against his chest, adrenaline spiking in his veins.

He opens his mouth, ready to beg his brother not to come back yet. Not now. Not when he’s spent weeks weaving this whole façade together. He’s finally made some progress with Harry. He’s finally starting to feel like maybe he can pull this off—at least long enough to make it through the game.

But before he can even think of a way to stop him, Levi’s voice cuts in cheerfully:

“Love ya, Lou!”

And then the line goes dead.

Louis slowly lowers the phone from his ear, staring blankly at the screen. His breathing feels shallow and uneven, and his hands are trembling slightly.

“Fuck,” he mutters, scrubbing his free hand down his face.

His pulse pounds in his ears as he stares down at his phone, half-expecting Levi to call back and tell him it was a joke. But the screen stays dark.

He drags a shaky hand through his hair, his fingers catching slightly in the damp strands, and stares at the wall, feeling suddenly queasy.

The lie—the carefully crafted persona, the game, the deception—it’s all this close to being blown wide open.

Because Levi is coming back.

And Louis has no idea how he’s going to explain this mess.

***

Louis pours everything he has into practice—the final one before the big game against Whitfield. He channels every ounce of focus and determination into his movements, relentlessly driving himself forward.

He sharpens each kick with precision, aiming for the top corners of the net, the spots hardest for a keeper to reach. His foot strikes the ball with a perfect, satisfying thud, sending it soaring through the air. The net ripples violently as it hits the mark.

Every pivot is faster. Every pass is crisper. He lunges into defensive drills with fierce intensity, his legs burning with exertion, but he doesn’t slow down. Not even a little.

Every single tip Harry gave him—he puts into practice. Every correction, every subtle shift in his form, every piece of advice—it’s all there in his movements. He doesn’t hold back. He can’t hold back.

The adrenaline thrums through him, fueling him, making him sharper, faster. His limbs scream in protest, but he pushes through it, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist, already streaked with dirt.

By the time Coach blows the final whistle, signaling the end of practice, Louis is practically vibrating with leftover energy, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

He jogs off the field with his hands on his hips, gulping down air, his skin slick with sweat. His legs feel like jelly, but he’s so fucking proud of himself for pushing this hard.

Just as he reaches for his water bottle, a deep, booming voice cuts through the chatter of his teammates.

“Daffodil!”

Louis immediately freezes, groaning internally. His shoulders slump slightly, and he knows he’s about to get reamed for something. Whether it’s a minor mistake or some technicality he missed, Coach never calls him over unless it’s bad news.

Still, he jogs over, trying to keep his expression neutral, mentally bracing himself for whatever criticism is coming his way.

“Yeah, Coach?” he pants, still catching his breath as he wipes a bead of sweat off his temple with the back of his hand.

Coach stands with his arms crossed over his chest, his expression stony and unreadable. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, are locked on Louis like he’s studying him.

For a moment, the alpha says nothing.

Then, in a flat, no-nonsense voice, he grunts, “I’m promoting you to first string for the game tomorrow.”

Louis blinks.

He stares at Coach, momentarily convinced he must’ve misheard him.

“Wait. What?” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.

Coach’s eyes narrow slightly, his mouth pulling into an unimpressed line.

“Are you deaf, daffodil?” he drawls dryly. “You’re first string.”

Louis’ heart stutters in his chest.

The words hit him like a punch of cold water straight to the face. His eyes widen as the reality of it slams into him.

First string.

He made first string.

For a split second, he just stares at the alpha, wide-eyed and disbelieving, his sweaty hair clinging to his forehead.

“Really?” he croaks, his voice cracking slightly with disbelief. His chest tightens with a surge of emotion, and he can’t stop the disbelieving grin that spreads across his face.

Coach’s face remains deadpan, completely unaffected by Louis’ excitement.

“Really, daffodil,” he mutters flatly. Then, with an exasperated sigh, he jerks his chin toward the locker rooms. “Now get your ass in the shower before I change my mind.”

But Louis is already beaming so hard his cheeks ache.

“Yes!” he practically shouts, his fist pumping the air in an uncharacteristic show of glee. He doesn’t even care that a few of his teammates glance over, amused by his outburst.

Without thinking, he grabs Coach’s hand and gives it an enthusiastic shake, his hand a little grimy with sweat and dirt. “Thank you, Coach! Seriously!” he says breathlessly, the words tumbling out of him too fast, too eager.

Coach’s lips twitch slightly, like he’s trying not to smile.

“Get out of here, Tomlinson,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes as he wrenches his hand free.

But Louis doesn’t care. His entire chest feels like it might burst from the overwhelming wave of pride and exhilaration coursing through him.

As he jogs toward the locker room, he barely feels his aching muscles or the sweat dripping down his back. His steps feel light and easy, practically bouncing with excitement.

The very thing he’s been busting his ass for three weeks—he actually did it.

He can’t stop grinning as he bursts through the locker room doors. He’s so giddy that he fist-bumps a random teammate in the hall without even realizing it. His heart is thundering in his chest, and his skin feels warm and electric with adrenaline.

The moment he steps under the cool spray of the shower, he exhales sharply, closing his eyes and letting the water wash over him. His hair sticks to his face, and his muscles slowly begin to loosen beneath the stream.

But even as the exhaustion settles into his bones, he can’t stop the triumphant smile tugging at his lips.

Because tomorrow—he gets to face Whitfield head-on.

And he’s going to show everyone—the entire stadium—that an omega can beat a team of alphas and betas.

He’s going to prove that he can dominate on the field.

***

Louis is practically floating by the time he gets back to the dorm, his legs moving on autopilot while his mind still spins with giddy disbelief. His face actually hurts from grinning so much, but he can’t stop.

First string.

The words keep bouncing around his head, making his chest feel light and airy, like he might actually levitate off the ground.

He barely even notices the familiar scent of his dormmates until he swings the door open and steps inside, practically vibrating with excitement.

Victoria, Niall, and Harry are lounging in their usual spots—Victoria sprawled on Niall’s bed, legs tossed over his lap, while Niall leans back against the wall, plucking lazily at his guitar. Harry is sitting at his desk, looking bored as he fiddles with his phone, his long legs spread casually beneath the chair.

All three of them glance up at him when he enters.

Their eyes narrow slightly at the dopey grin plastered across his face.

Victoria tilts her head, arching a brow with playful suspicion.

“What’s got you so chipper?” she asks, amused, her lips twitching into a smirk.

Louis barely makes it two steps into the room before he bursts.

“Oh, nothing.” He waves a hand nonchalantly, his eyes wide with false innocence. Then, with a dramatic gasp, he shrieks, “Other than your boy just got upgraded to first string for tomorrow’s game!”

The words come out in a breathless rush, high-pitched and gleeful, his voice cracking slightly on the last word from the sheer force of his excitement.

Victoria’s eyes widen, and Niall’s face splits into a bright grin.

“That’s awesome, Levi!” Niall exclaims, immediately sitting up straighter.

“Holy shit, you deserve it!” Victoria adds, her face beaming with genuine pride as she claps her hands together.

Louis’ chest swells at their support, but it’s not their praise he craves most.

He turns, seeking out Harry.

And when his eyes meet the alpha’s, his breath catches slightly.

Because Harry is already staring at him—proud. His green eyes are wide and warm, a dazzling smile tugging at his lips. For a second, Louis feels a little dizzy from the intensity of it.

But before he can say anything, Harry is suddenly there, crossing the room in three long strides.

Without hesitation, the alpha sweeps him into a tight, bone-crushing hug.

Louis barely has time to gasp before Harry’s strong arms lock around him, pulling him in completely. His feet leave the ground slightly as Harry squeezes him, lifting him just enough to make Louis feel small and weightless.

Louis melts into it.

His arms loop around Harry’s neck, holding on tightly, his face pressing into the crook of the alpha’s neck. His breath stutters slightly when he inhales, his senses immediately flooded with Harry’s strong, rich line scent—bold and woodsy, with that faint, honey-sweet undertone that makes Louis’ head spin.

He shudders faintly, and his chest thrums with warmth.

For a fleeting, dangerous second, he thinks he could stay here forever—pressed into Harry’s arms, surrounded by his scent, feeling the heat of his chest against his own.

Then, before he can stop himself, he lets out a soft, content sigh.

Harry dips his head lower, his lips brushing against the shell of Louis’ ear, and when he speaks, his voice is a deep, raspy murmur that sends a shiver down Louis’ spine.

“I knew you could do it,” he whispers.

The words are so close, his breath warm against Louis’ skin. The low timbre of his voice rumbles against his neck, vibrating through him.

Louis’ cock twitches in his shorts.

His throat goes dry, and his knees threaten to buckle from the sudden rush of heat pooling low in his belly.

It takes everything in him to suppress the wave of slick threatening to betray him, forcing his body into submission with sheer willpower alone.

Harry slowly pulls back, his arms still loose around Louis’ waist, and their eyes lock.

His grin is soft and wide, but there’s something more in his expression—something tender, almost fond. His eyes are impossibly gentle, crinkling slightly at the corners, and Louis’ chest aches at how unfairly sweet he is.

For a moment, Louis can only stare at him, mesmerized by the raw, unguarded affection on the alpha’s face.

Then, a loud, exaggerated cough shatters the moment.

Louis blinks, startled, his face flushing instantly as he jerks away from Harry.

He whirls around to see Niall smirking smugly, arms crossed over his chest as he raises his brows.

“I hope we’re not interrupting some weird alpha love fest,” Niall drawls, his eyes glinting with teasing amusement as he glances between the two of them.

Harry instantly steps back, looking momentarily sheepish. He ducks his head slightly, scratching the back of his neck.

But Louis is not as composed.

His face floods with heat, and he knows his cheeks are burning, his inner omega practically squirming with embarrassment at being called out.

He quickly looks down, fumbling to smooth his shirt and failing to meet anyone’s eyes.

“Shut up, Niall,” he mutters, voice small and flustered.

Victoria snorts from her spot on the bed, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Levi. It was a very tender moment,” she coos mockingly, batting her lashes dramatically.

Louis shoots her a glare, but she only giggles.

He’s about to fire back a snarky retort when the sharp memory of his earlier phone call with Levi suddenly hits him.

His heart stutters slightly.

Levi is flying home tonight.

Which means by morning, his brother will be back in Illyria.

And Louis cannot be here when that happens.

His stomach knots slightly with anxiety. He glances at Harry, who is still watching him with a soft, lingering smile, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind Louis’ eyes.

But Louis knows he can’t risk staying the night.

If he wakes up here tomorrow, Levi will walk through that door and find him. And everything will come crashing down.

He swallows hard, mind already racing with plans.

He’ll have to wait until everyone falls asleep. Then he’ll sneak out quietly, crash on someone else’s floor—anywhere but here.

Just for one night.

He forces himself to smile, swallowing his anxiety.

“Hey, I’m gonna grab a shower,” he says casually, faking a yawn. “I’m wiped.”

Harry smiles warmly. “Yeah, get some rest. Big game tomorrow.”

Louis nods quickly, backing toward the door. 

And as he slips out of the dorm he closes his eyes, heart hammering. He’ll win this game tomorrow, prove what he needs to prove and then he can tell Harry the whole truth. 

He can do this. 

***

Louis ends up crashing on Eugene’s floor, the only person he can trust not to raise any suspicion over it.

He barely gets two hours of restless sleep before he’s woken by an unsettling sensation—the distinct feeling of being watched.

His eyes flutter open groggily, and his blurry vision is immediately met with Eugene’s face—staring at him from mere inches away, a massive, dopey smile plastered across it.

Louis yelps, scrambling back against the wall, heart lurching into his throat.

“Jesus, fuck, Eugene!” he pants, clutching his chest. “Why are you watching me sleep?!”

Eugene merely shrugs, looking completely unbothered by Louis’ near heart attack.

“You’re just so fascinating,” he muses, tilting his head like a curious child. “And I’ve never had an alpha sleep in my room before.”

Louis groans internally, pressing his hands to his face.

And you still haven’t, he thinks dryly, rolling his eyes behind his palms.

When he finally lowers his hands, he grabs his phone from beside his makeshift bed. The moment his eyes land on the screen, his stomach plummets.

10:44 AM.

Panic shoots through him like a jolt of electricity.

He bolts upright, eyes wide with horror.

“Eugene!” he shouts, scrambling for his shoes. “You know my game is today! Why didn’t you wake me up?!”

The other omega blinks at him, unfazed by the desperation in his voice.

“You looked so peaceful,” Eugene shrugs, as if that’s a perfectly reasonable excuse.

Louis lets out a strangled groan, hurriedly grabbing his bag and practically tripping over his feet as he barrels out the door.

By the time he’s sprinting across campus, his lungs are burning and his legs feel like lead. The omega dorms are on the opposite end of campus from the soccer field, and with every heavy footfall, he feels the minutes slipping away.

He’s not going to make it.

He pushes himself harder, legs trembling slightly with the exertion, and finally skids into the locker room—panting and gasping for air. His shirt sticks to his back with sweat, his chest heaving violently.

But when he checks the time on the wall clock, his heart sinks.

11:02 AM.

“Fuck.”

He rushes to his locker, yanking it open—only to freeze when he finds it empty.

His eyes narrow in confusion, and he rummages through the small, barren space, convinced he must’ve missed it somehow.

But no. His uniform is gone.

He knows he left it there after practice yesterday. He remembers it clearly—the jersey, the shorts, the socks, everything.

But now? Nothing.

He slams the locker shut with a growl of frustration, running a hand through his damp hair.

He doesn’t have time for this.

Swearing under his breath, he quickly sprays himself down with a fresh layer of neutralizer—just in case—and bolts for the field.

He has no idea what he’s expecting to find, but it sure as hell isn’t the sight that greets him.

Because there—standing on the field, in his uniform, surrounded by his teammates—is Levi.

Louis’ breath catches in his throat.

For a split second, his brain can’t even process what he’s seeing. His twin—dressed in his jersey, wearing his cleats, playing in his place.

His heart plummets.

It suddenly clicks—the missing uniform, Levi’s unexpected return. Harry must have mistaken Levi for him this morning and woken him up to get ready.

Louis clenches his jaw. He should’ve accounted for this happening. He should’ve seen it coming.

But he didn’t.

Now, he’s stuck on the sidelines, hidden behind the wooden planks supporting the scoreboard, helplessly watching as his brother takes the field.

And it’s painful to watch.

Levi—clueless about soccer—blunders through the game. He gets knocked down repeatedly, losing the ball left and right. The opposing team easily strips possession from him. He looks utterly lost, fumbling every play no matter how hard he tries.

Louis winces with every clumsy mistake, his nails digging into his palms.

All his hard work. All his training. Everything he’s poured into this chance.

Going down the drain.

He glances up at the bleachers, his eyes quickly finding Liam, Zayn, and Leigh-Anne.

The three of them are watching the game with furrowed brows, their faces etched with confusion. They’re clearly puzzled by ‘Louis’’ awful performance.

Heart hammering, Louis quickly texts them.

That’s not me. It’s Levi. Long story.

He watches as Liam’s phone buzzes. The alpha glances down, then nudges Zayn, showing him the screen. Both of them exchange wide-eyed glances before turning to scan the field.

It takes them a moment before they spot Louis near the scoreboard, crouched low, peering out anxiously. Their eyes widen slightly in shock.

Louis drags in a shaky breath, his knuckles white where he grips the wooden beam.

Finally, mercifully, halftime rolls around.

Louis watches as Levi slouches off the field, his face flushed with embarrassment. Coach Tanner is in his face, yelling as Levi shrinks under the alpha’s scolding.

And then Harry appears—brows knit together, eyes narrowed with obvious confusion and frustration.

Louis can see Harry questioning Levi, probably demanding to know why he’s playing so poorly.

That’s Louis’ cue.

As the rest of the team heads for the locker room, he quickly slips out from behind the scoreboard and snatches Levi by the shoulder, yanking him into the narrow space behind the bleachers.

Levi stumbles slightly, blinking in surprise.

“Louis?” he blurts, eyes going wide. “What are you doing here? And—wait—” His eyes scan Louis from head to toe. “Why do you look like that?”

Louis’ chest heaves with adrenaline.

“I need your uniform!” he pants, his voice sharp and desperate.

But Levi is still gaping at him, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Your hair is styled like mine… your face looks sharper… and—” His eyes narrow. “Have you gotten taller?!”

Louis lets out a frustrated huff.

“Ugh! I—I pretended to be you while you were away!” he admits breathlessly, waving his hands in exasperation. “I wanted to prove to the dumbass Whitfield team that omegas can play just as well as alphas and betas! So I changed my look, wore lifts in my shoes, and sprayed neutralizer all over me. Voilà—instant alpha brother.”

Levi’s eyes widen slightly, stunned.

But then, to Louis’ surprise, his lips slowly twitch into an amused grin.

“Wow, Lou.” His eyes glimmer with something close to admiration. “That’s actually pretty badass.”

Louis huffs, slightly exasperated.

“It won’t be badass if I miss the second half!” he snaps. “Now give me the uniform!”

Without hesitation, Levi starts stripping out of the jersey, yanking off the cleats and shin guards in record time. He’s left in just a white undershirt and basketball shorts, his chest still rising and falling from exertion.

Louis scrambles into the uniform, hastily stuffing the lifts into the cleats. His hands shake slightly as he ties the laces, adrenaline making his fingers fumble.

“So… any trouble pretending to be an alpha?” Levi teases lightly.

Louis shoots him a glare.

“My roommate found one of my heat pads on the first day,” he grumbles, shoving his foot into the second cleat.

Levi’s eyes widen. “No way.” He snorts. “How the hell did you cover for that?”

Louis groans.

“I told him I used them for rut.” He shrugs, fastening the final strap. “Like, y’know… to absorb the mess.”

Levi freezes, then blinks slowly.

“Huh.” His brows furrow. “That’s actually kinda genius.”

Louis rolls his eyes, despite the grin tugging at his lips.

“Yeah. That’s what Liam said too.”

Without wasting another second, he bolts onto the field, determined to make every second of the second half count.

Levi shrugs, flashing Louis a lopsided grin. “Good luck, Lou. Kick their asses.”

Louis returns the smile, feeling a spark of confidence reignite in his chest. He watches as his brother jogs off, ducking behind the bleachers in his undershirt and basketball shorts, doing his best to be inconspicuous. With a deep breath, Louis turns and bolts onto the field, his cleats thudding against the grass with each determined step.

He heads straight for Coach Tanner, who is still pacing near the sideline, clearly pissed off by Levi’s disastrous first half. The coach glances up, his expression hardening as his eyes land on Louis, oblivious to the switch.

“Coach!” Louis calls out, breathless but steady. He fixes the older alpha with his most confident stare, willing him to see the fire in his eyes. “I know I was rough out there earlier, but I’ve cleared my head. I’m good now. I can do this.”

Coach Tanner narrows his eyes, glancing him over. “You sure?” he gruffs, arms crossed, his expression skeptical. “You looked like you didn’t even know what sport you were playing in the first half.”

Louis stands his ground, his fists clenching at his sides. “I swear, Coach. I’ve got my head back in the game. Let me prove it.”

There’s a tense beat of silence, then Tanner heaves a long-suffering sigh. With a sharp nod, he gestures toward the field. “Alright, Tomlinson. Get out there. But if you screw around again, you’re benched for good.”

Relief floods through Louis. “You won’t regret it,” he promises before sprinting onto the field. His legs pump faster, adrenaline fueling his limbs. His eyes sweep over the players, and his pulse kicks up when he spots Harry sliding in beside him, expression hard and unreadable.

The alpha’s sharp green eyes flick over him. “What the hell was that first half?” Harry hisses under his breath. His voice is low and rough, brimming with restrained frustration. “I’ve been teaching you all this stuff for weeks, and it’s like you forgot everything. What was that shit, Tomlinson?”

Louis barely has time to register the sting of Harry’s disappointment before the alpha’s eyes narrow. He sniffs subtly, brow furrowing. “And why are you wearing neutralizer now?” His eyes search Louis’, the confusion slowly hardening into suspicion. “You weren’t before.”

Louis winces. He forgot that Levi, being a true alpha, would never wear scent neutralizer. The sudden lack of his usual citrus-bergamot scent is bound to raise red flags. He scrambles for an excuse, forcing a casual shrug.

“I wasn’t in the right headspace earlier,” he lies, schooling his voice into forced nonchalance. “I’m good now.”

But Harry doesn’t buy it. His lips press into a tight line, jaw clenched. “I don’t believe you,” he mutters, eyes hard. “There’s something you’re not telling me. So much about you doesn’t add up.”

Louis’ throat goes dry. He opens his mouth, ready to offer some kind of placating excuse, but before he can, Harry storms off, shoulders rigid with tension.

Louis exhales shakily, feeling the hollow ache of guilt settle in his chest. His inner omega claws at him, restless and regretful. It whines in frustration, longing to smooth things over with his alpha, to beg for forgiveness, to scent him and promise he’ll explain everything.

But he doesn’t have time for that. Not now. He shoves his feelings aside and refocuses on the game. He catches sight of Jake—the smug bastard—standing in front of the goal, wearing that same cocky smirk Louis remembers from their last game at Whitfield. Denman, stands with his arms crossed near the bench, wearing a similarly arrogant expression.

Not for long, Louis thinks darkly. It’s time to remind them exactly what they lost when they decided not to give him a chance.

He casts a quick glance up at the bleachers, spotting Zayn, Liam, and Leigh-Anne watching with worried eyes. Their faces soften with relief when they catch sight of him. Louis offers a quick thumbs-up, a silent promise that he has it under control.

The whistle blows, and the game kicks off. Whitfield immediately takes possession of the ball, launching a coordinated attack down the field. Louis’ eyes narrow as he watches the play unfold.

Harry intercepts, blocking the pass and gaining control. He cuts down the field with speed and precision, but when Louis calls out for the ball, Harry pointedly ignores him.

“Harry! I’m open!” Louis shouts, sprinting to give him a clear line, but Harry keeps the ball, determined to do it alone.

The hesitation costs him. A Whitfield beta slides in, stealing the ball with a sharp kick. In the next breath, Whitfield scores, their fans roaring with satisfaction as the scoreboard ticks up.

4-5. Whitfield leads.

“Fuck,” Louis mutters under his breath, running a hand through his damp hair. His chest tightens with frustration.

As the teams reset, Louis grits his teeth and pushes forward with renewed determination. This time, he fights harder. When the ball comes his way, he sprints down the field, expertly weaving past two defenders. He spots Niall cutting in toward the goal and sends a clean, perfectly timed pass his way.

Niall doesn’t hesitate. He strikes the ball into the net with a swift, powerful kick. The crowd erupts into cheers.

Louis slaps Niall’s back with a grin, but his eyes immediately find Harry. The alpha doesn’t cheer. His face remains impassive, his gaze distant. Louis feels the sharp sting of rejection in his chest.

He’s still angry.

The game resumes. Whitfield’s beta forward gains possession and launches a shot at the goal, but Mason—their goalkeeper—snatches it out of the air with a brilliant dive. He quickly throws it back into play.

Victoria gets the ball next, but she’s immediately swarmed by Whitfield players. With no other options, she kicks it back to Harry, who sprints forward.

“Harry!” Louis calls out again, breaking away from his defenders. He’s wide open. “Over here!”

But Harry hesitates. His eyes lock with Louis’, full of mistrust. The brief hesitation costs him.

A Whitfield player lunges in with a sharp slide tackle, swiping the ball right out from under Harry’s feet. The crowd groans as Whitfield immediately regains possession and barrels down the field.

“Harry, seriously?!” Louis snaps, frustration lacing his voice. His heart pounds in his chest, anger rising with every step he takes toward the alpha. “You can’t let your anger at me affect the game! Please!” His voice cracks slightly, desperation seeping through. “I’m your teammate!”

Harry spins on his heel, closing the distance between them with two furious strides. His eyes blaze with unrestrained frustration, and for the first time, Louis feels the full weight of the alpha’s fury.

“You’ve been lying to me!” Harry seethes, his voice low and rough, only for Louis’ ears. His jaw ticks as he leans in, towering over him. “I don’t know what you’re hiding, but there’s something. And I thought we were friends.”

Louis’ chest tightens, his throat constricting at the raw emotion in Harry’s voice. It’s not just anger—it’s hurt. Betrayal.

“We are,” Louis insists, his voice barely above a whisper, but Harry shakes his head sharply, like he doesn’t want to hear it.

Louis’ breath stutters. He glances at the scoreboard—only a few minutes left—and he knows he’s running out of time. He can’t keep this up any longer. He can’t keep lying, can’t keep breaking Harry’s trust. His heart pounds against his ribs as he looks into the alpha’s blazing green eyes.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he blurts, voice trembling. “After the game. I promise. Just—please—don’t shut me out right now. I need to beat Whitfield.”

For a moment, Harry’s mouth parts, as if he might respond, but before he can, Jake struts over, inserting himself between them like he owns the field.

“Are we interrupting something, gentlemen?” Jake sneers, his voice dripping with condescension. He plants a hand on Harry’s chest, pushing lightly, just enough to be a challenge.

Louis stiffens. His breath catches.

He sees the exact moment Harry snaps.

“Take your fucking hand off me and get back in the net,” Harry growls, his voice low and lethal. His alpha presence thrums in the air, making Louis’ skin prickle.

But Jake only smirks, ever the smug bastard. “Oh yeah?” he taunts, shoving Harry harder this time. “What are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?”

Before Louis can blink, Harry’s fist collides with Jake’s jaw with a brutal sound that echoes across the field.

Chaos erupts.

Jake staggers back, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. With a vicious snarl, he launches himself at Harry. They slam into each other, grappling violently, fists flying.

“Harry!” Louis shouts, reaching out, but it’s too late. The field explodes into an all-out brawl.

Players from both teams abandon their positions, charging toward the fight. Shouts and grunts fill the air as bodies collide, players grabbing and shoving, fists flying. A Whitfield beta tackles Niall, slamming him to the ground. But a Illyria player jumps into the fray, shoving the beta off Niall. 

Victoria and another female alpha rush in, trying to pull teammates apart, but it’s a losing battle. The field becomes a mess of tangled limbs and violent scuffles.

Louis backs away, heart racing. His eyes dart around the chaos. He feels his stomach drop as he spots Jake and Harry still locked in a brutal struggle. Jake throws a punch, grazing Harry’s cheekbone. Harry’s lip is already split, blood trickling down his chin.

Louis’ entire body screams at him to run in and stop it, but he knows better. He’s an omega. He doesn’t have the strength to hold back two raging alphas. If he gets caught in the middle, he could be seriously hurt.

Still, he can’t stand back and watch.

“Enough!” Coach Tanner’s voice booms across the field as he and the assistant coaches storm in, pulling players apart. The referees blow their whistles repeatedly, but it barely cuts through the frenzy.

Tanner grabs Harry by the back of his jersey, yanking him away from Jake. “Get off him! Now!”

Harry snarls, his chest heaving as he finally stumbles back, fists still clenched and blood smeared along his knuckles. Jake, now sporting a bruised jaw and a bloody lip, smirks like he’s won.

Louis watches with a sinking heart as Zoey sprints toward him, her face painted with concern. She grabs his arm, her eyes wide with worry.

“Are you okay, Levi?” she asks, her voice trembling slightly.

Louis’ chest squeezes. He can barely look at her.

“Not now, Zoey,” he mutters, barely sparing her a glance before stepping around her. His focus is solely on Harry.

He stumbles forward, grabbing Harry’s wrist. His fingers cling tightly, refusing to let go.

“Harry, please,” he breathes, voice cracking. “You have to listen to me.”

Harry wrenches his arm free. His eyes—blazing with betrayal and hurt—pin Louis in place. His voice is low, raw. “No, Levi. I’m done. You’re nothing but lies. You’re always lying. Even with Zoey.” His voice cracks slightly, and his eyes darken. “All you did was mess things up for me. And then—” His voice lowers, almost to a broken whisper, “—then you confused the hell out of me. With the way I felt. I—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head bitterly. “And it was all fake.”

Louis’ heart clenches painfully. His omega whines pitifully inside him, gutted by the pain in Harry’s voice.

He knows he can’t keep running from the truth.

His hands shake slightly as he takes a step back. His voice is unsteady, but resolute.

“Wait,” he says, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’ll tell you the truth. I’ll tell everyone the truth.”

A hush falls over the field.

Players, coaches, and spectators all turn toward him. Even Coach Tanner stops barking at the players, falling silent. The crowd stares at him expectantly.

Louis draws in a shaky breath. His hands tremble slightly, but he clenches them into fists at his sides, forcing his voice steady.

“I’ve been lying,” he admits, voice raw with emotion. His throat tightens. He switches to his normal voice, dropping the slightly deeper pitch he’d been using as Levi. “I’m not Levi. It’s Louis.”

For a moment, the field is utterly still. The only sound is the heavy breathing of the players still recovering from the fight.

Harry’s eyes widen slightly. He takes a step back, confusion etched across his face.

“You—you can’t be Louis,” he stammers, shaking his head slowly. “I’ve smelled Louis. I’ve kissed Louis.”

Louis’ throat feels tight, his voice barely above a whisper. “You did smell me,” he says softly. “That’s why I wore neutralizer. You just didn’t know it was me.” He takes a shaky breath. “And you did kiss me.”

Harry’s expression falters. His brows furrow deeply, his lips parting slightly.

“I’m so confused,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his curls, his voice a broken rasp.

Louis swallows hard. His hands shake slightly as he begins to rub off the contour from his face. His fingers quickly unlace the lifts from his cleats, pulling them out one by one.

“I wanted to prove myself,” Louis says quietly. “So I pretended to be my brother. I wanted to show that omegas could play just as well as alphas and betas. That we deserved a shot.”

He glances at Harry, his voice softening. “But I didn’t want to hurt you. I swear.”

For a moment, Harry just stares at him, his expression unreadable. His eyes search Louis’ face, narrowed slightly in suspicion, but there’s a flicker of something else beneath the confusion—something almost vulnerable.

Then, his voice cuts through the tense silence.

“Wearing lifts and a bit of makeup doesn’t prove you’re an omega,” Harry says flatly, his tone firm but low, almost disbelieving.

Louis’ chest tightens. He can feel his throat constrict with the weight of Harry’s doubt. For a split second, he considers backing down. The urge to run, to escape the humiliation, claws at his chest.

But he shoves it down.

Instead, he lets out a breathy, humorless laugh, shaking his head slightly. His voice is low, rough with exhaustion and emotion.

“I don’t know how else to prove it,” he mutters, his lips tugging into a self-deprecating smirk. His eyes lock onto Harry’s, daring him to call his bluff. “Unless you want me to get slick right here, in front of everyone.”

A few players around them snicker, but Louis doesn’t waver. He holds Harry’s gaze steadily, his eyes sharp and unflinching.

Harry’s lips part slightly, as if he’s about to speak, but then Louis’ expression hardens with sudden resolve.

An idea strikes him. A reckless, desperate idea.

Without another word, he whirls around and marches toward the water station.

“Louis, what are you—” Harry starts, but Louis doesn’t slow.

The chatter around them dulls as players and coaches turn to watch him with confused frowns. Louis’ cleats pound against the grass, his fists clenched at his sides.

When he reaches the water station, he grabs a full gallon jug before anyone can stop him. His fingers tremble slightly around the handle, but his grip is steady.

For half a second, he hesitates. His heart slams against his ribs.

Then, before anyone can intervene, he tilts the jug over his head and pours.

The shock of it hits instantly.

“Holy fuck, that’s cold!” Louis gasps, his voice breaking into a shriek as the freezing water cascades down his face and neck. His entire body jolts with the chill, but he doesn’t stop, even when he shivers violently.

The water streams over him in heavy rivulets, drenching his hair and plastering it to his forehead. It soaks through his jersey, making it cling to his chest and shoulders, and sends droplets splattering onto the grass.

For a breathless moment, nothing happens.

Then, slowly, the neutralizer begins to wash away.

Louis clenches his jaw and scents the air deliberately, urging the change along. His damp skin prickles as the cloying chemical scent is stripped from him.

And then it hits.

The heavenly sweetness of vanilla and coconut rises in the air, warm and rich, unmistakably omega.

It floods the field instantly, thick and clinging, cutting through the lingering scent of sweat and turf. The scent is so potent that Louis swears he sees Harry’s entire body tense.

The alpha’s nostrils flare as his eyes widen in shock.

“Holy shit,” someone breathes nearby.

Players, coaches, and even spectators in the front rows begin to murmur in surprise. A ripple of gasps and startled whispers spreads through the crowd.

But Louis barely notices them.

His eyes are locked onto Harry’s.

The alpha stares at him, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His pupils are blown wide, the sharp green of his irises swallowed by dark, inky black. His throat bobs thickly as he swallows hard, his entire frame tense and still.

Recognition floods his face—raw and unguarded.

“It’s really you,” Harry breathes, voice barely above a whisper.

Louis’ lips part in a shaky smile, his breath coming in uneven gasps, still trembling slightly from the icy water.

“Yeah,” he whispers hoarsely. “It’s me.”

For a brief, trembling moment, neither of them speaks.

A slow smile tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth, small and disbelieving, but real. His eyes soften as he gazes at Louis, taking in the drenched omega standing before him, shivering slightly with his hair plastered to his forehead and water dripping from his lashes.

Louis clings to the warmth in Harry’s eyes, holding onto it like a lifeline.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says softly, voice trembling with raw sincerity. “I care about you. So much. More than I probably should.” His breath catches slightly, and he steps closer, his eyes imploring. “But I couldn’t let anyone know. I—I had to prove myself without being counted out from the start. I needed you to see me as an equal first.”

Harry’s expression flickers with something almost pained, as if he’s trying to process everything at once. His eyes search Louis’, lingering on the droplets trailing down his face. His throat bobs as he swallows hard.

“All I want is a chance,” Louis breathes, barely above a whisper.

For a long moment, Harry just stares at him, his eyes impossibly soft. Then, with a shaky breath, he slowly nods.

“Of course. It doesn’t matter to me that you’re an omega. You’re a damn good player. That’s all that matters,” he murmurs. His voice is so gentle, so sure, that it makes Louis’ chest tighten with relief.

But before Louis can respond, a cold, cutting voice slices through the air.

“Actually, it does matter,” Coach Denman sneers from the sideline, arms crossed smugly. He holds up a small booklet—the official A/B/O athletics rulebook. His lip curls into a vindictive smirk. “According to regulation, an omega can’t play in the same league as alphas and betas. It’s against the rules.”

Gasps ripple through the crowd, and Louis’ stomach drops like a stone.

Denman strides forward, holding the rulebook out mockingly, as if daring someone to challenge him. His voice is loud and self-satisfied, meant for everyone to hear.

“Doesn’t matter how good you are, kid,” he sneers, his eyes locked on Louis with condescension. “You’re still just an omega. You don’t belong here.”

Louis’ hands clench into fists, his nails biting into his palms. Fury burns in his chest, but before he can say a word, Coach Tanner storms forward. His face is red with barely restrained rage.

He snatches the booklet from Denman’s hand and, without breaking stride, rips it clean in half. The crowd gasps.

“At Illyria, we don’t discriminate based on primary or secondary genders,” Tanner roars, his voice booming across the field. His eyes burn with defiance. “These rules are bullshit!”

Denman takes a startled step back, clearly not expecting the outburst.

Tanner glares at him, his chest heaving with barely restrained fury. “You can take your outdated, discriminatory crap and shove it. As long as I’m coaching, this is my team. And on my team, the best player plays. No matter their gender.”

A roar of approval rises from the Illyria stands, sending a ripple of energy through the crowd. Fans are on their feet, shouting and whistling.

Louis’ breath catches in his throat. For the first time, his eyes burn with unshed tears.

Denman’s smug smirk falters, but he recovers quickly. His lip curls into a sneer.

“Fine,” he spits, voice dripping with venom. “If you really think you can beat us with an omega on your team, go for it.” He flashes a predatory smile. “It’ll be fun to watch you lose.”

Jake, his split lip still glistening with blood, wipes it with the back of his hand and saunters closer. He tilts his head, flashing Louis a cocky grin. His eyes glimmer with cruel amusement.

“This is gonna be a piece of cake,” he sneers, eyes gleaming with condescension.

Louis meets his gaze with a level stare. He feels the fire burning low in his gut, hot and unyielding. The patronizing grin on Jake’s face only fuels him.

He smiles slowly, fiercely.

“Don’t choke,” he taunts back smoothly, voice laced with dangerous sweetness.

Jake’s grin falters slightly, his eyes narrowing.

Harry steps up beside Louis, their shoulders brushing. His eyes flick to Jake, then back to Louis, full of unwavering determination.

“Let’s do this,” Harry mutters.

Louis nods sharply, and they both sprint back to the field.

The whistle blows sharply, signaling the final minutes of the game.

Louis’ legs burn as he sprints down the field, his cleats kicking up bits of turf. His muscles scream in protest, but he doesn’t slow.

The ball cuts through the players like a bullet, passed back and forth with rapid precision. Niall dodges a Whitfield defender with nimble footwork, keeping the ball just out of reach before booting it across the field.

Louis sees the opening. His pulse roars in his ears.

“Harry!” he shouts, his voice hoarse from exertion.

Harry, halfway across the field, doesn’t hesitate. His eyes find Louis instantly. Without breaking stride, he sends a powerful cross kick straight into Louis’ path.

The ball soars through the air, perfectly timed.

Louis’ heart slams against his ribs as he races forward, his legs pumping with everything he has left. His lungs burn with every stride, but he doesn’t slow. The goal is right there—so close. One clean kick, and he knows he can—

A sharp kick to the back of his shin sends him sprawling. His cleats catch awkwardly in the turf, and he face-plants into the grass with a pained grunt. The impact jars him, knocking the breath from his lungs.

For a moment, he lies there, disoriented, blinking against the dirt clinging to his lashes.

Then, warm, steady hands grip his elbow, pulling him up.

“Hey, hey. You okay?”

Harry’s voice is low, gravel-rough with concern. His green eyes scan Louis’ face, wide and alert, searching for any sign of pain. His grip is firm but gentle, thumb brushing over Louis’ wrist in a soothing motion.

Louis shakes out his leg, wincing slightly at the dull throb in his calf. It stings, but nothing he can’t handle.

“I’m fine,” he rasps, his breath still catching in his throat.

Harry’s brows knit together, clearly unconvinced, but Louis brushes the concern away, stepping back on his feet.

The referee blows his whistle sharply, and a bright red flag sails into the air.

Whitfield groans in protest, the player who took Louis out rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Oh, come on! I barely even touched him! It’s not my fault omegas are fragile!” the alpha grumbles.

But the call stands.

And just like that, Louis is awarded a penalty kick.

The crowd stirs, the tension rippling through the stadium like a live wire. The whole game now hangs on this one shot. If he makes this goal, he wins the game for Illyria.

Louis’ eyes snap to the goal, and his stomach clenches when he sees Jake stepping into position as the goalkeeper.

Their eyes lock, and Jake’s mouth curls into a smug, self-assured smirk. The cockiest knothead on planet Earth.

Jake paces in front of the goal like a predator, tossing the ball once between his hands before setting it down. He claps his gloved hands together, the sound sharp and taunting.

“Come on, Louis,” he calls out mockingly, his voice dripping with condescension. “Prove to the world exactly why omegas shouldn’t be on the field with alphas and betas.”

Louis narrows his eyes, jaw tightening.

Jake’s smirk widens. “I know exactly where you’re gonna go,” he sneers, feigning a yawn. “You’re so predictable, Louis. I could defend this shot in my sleep.”

Louis’ fingers twitch at his sides, his nails digging into his palms.

Jake isn’t done.

“Am I psyching you out, Lou?” he jeers, his voice lowering to a cruel purr. “Because you’re nothing but a wet ass who gives mediocre head.”

For half a second, Louis’ breath catches. His lips part slightly in shock.

Then he snorts.

Because what a fucking lie.

If there’s one thing Louis Tomlinson is absolutely sure of, it’s that he gives fantastic head. Toe-curling, life-altering, headboard-gripping head.

And if Jake thinks a cheap insult is enough to rattle him, he’s dead wrong.

Louis inhales sharply, steadying himself. His fingers flex once at his sides, then he positions the ball with laser-sharp focus.

He doesn’t hear the crowd anymore. Doesn’t see the players scattered around him.

It’s just him. And the goal.

The whistle blows.

Louis inhales deeply, then makes his move.

He lifts his left leg, feigning a shot to the right corner, just as Jake had expected. He can practically see the smug gleam in the alpha’s eyes as he lunges toward it.

But at the last second, Louis twists his body and switches to his dominant leg—his right. With a sharp, fluid motion, he strikes.

The ball sails through the air like a bullet.

Jake, still diving in the wrong direction, barely even realizes he’s been duped before the ball hits the back of the net.

GOAL.

The stadium erupts.

Louis stumbles slightly from the force of the kick and hits the grass on his knees, panting as the sound of the crowd roars around him.

He did it.

He actually won the game.

He beat Whitfield.

He proved that omegas could be just as good—if not better.

Before he can process it, his teammates are swarming him.

“Holy shit! You did it!”

“Fucking hell, that was insane!”

He’s yanked to his feet by Niall and Victoria, both of them practically vibrating with excitement.

“That was a hell of a kick, Louis!” Victoria laughs, clutching his face briefly between her hands before pulling him into a tight hug. “I still can’t believe you’re Louis, but holy shit—what you did was amazing.”

Niall claps him on the back with a wide, goofy grin. “I can’t believe we won! And by an omega, no less. Fuck, you just proved omegas can be badass players too. You showed them all.”

Louis’ chest swells with warmth, his heart pounding from more than just adrenaline. His cheeks hurt from smiling, but he doesn’t care.

Then Liam, Zayn, and Leigh-Anne appear, their faces lit up with pride.

“That was amazing, Lou,” Zayn grins, pulling him into a crushing hug. “We’re so proud of you!”

“Seriously, mate,” Liam adds with a wide smile. “You were better than Whitfield’s entire team put together.”

Leigh-Anne smirks, crossing her arms. “I think there’s one more person who wants to congratulate you.”

She jerks her chin over Louis’ shoulder.

Frowning slightly, Louis turns—and his breath catches when he sees Harry watching him.

The alpha stands a few feet away, his expression unreadable. His green eyes are soft, almost reverent, but cautious.

Louis’ heart stutters.

Murmuring a quick excuse to his friends, he slowly makes his way over.

When he stops in front of Harry, he gnaws his bottom lip nervously, suddenly unsure of where they stand.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s brows knit together slightly, confused.

“Why would I be mad?” he asks softly.

Louis’ gaze falls to the ground. “Because I lied to you,” he says, voice tight. “I made you believe I was an alpha.”

For a moment, Harry doesn’t say anything.

Then, slowly, he cups Louis’ jaw, tilting his face up gently.

His touch is warm and grounding.

“It’s okay,” Harry says quietly, his voice thick with tenderness. “I know why you did it. And… honestly?” His lips twitch into a small smirk. “I think I always had my suspicions.”

Louis’ brows furrow slightly, confused.

Harry chuckles softly. “I did say you were too dainty for an alpha,” he teases. His eyes glimmer with mischief. “And not to be too forward, but when I saw your ass in the locker room that day…” He leans in slightly, voice dropping to a low rasp. “It’s safe to say I was questioning a lot.”

Louis flushes, snorting softly. “I have been told my ass is a work of art,” he teases, his voice playfully cocky.

Harry’s eyes soften with something warmer—deeper. His hand drifts down to Louis’ waist.

“You did it,” he murmurs softly, his voice filled with awe. “I’m so proud of you, omega.”

Louis’ breath catches, and his eyes soften as he grins, his inner omega preens at the praise  

“Thanks, alpha,” he breathes.

Without another word, Harry leans in and crashes their mouths together.

The kiss is soft at first, warm and sweet as Louis takes it easy, mindful of the alpha’s split lip. But when Louis sighs into it, Harry takes it deeper, sliding his tongue along Louis’ bottom lip, tasting him properly.

The cheers of the crowd and the excited hollers from his teammates dim slightly in Louis’ ears as he melts into Harry’s kiss. The warmth of the alpha’s mouth is everything he remembered from the kissing booth—soft, firm, and just the right amount of possessive.

But this is even better. Because there’s no pretense, no deception—just them.

Louis’ fingers curl into the fabric of Harry’s jersey, tugging him closer. His heart stutters when Harry’s large hands slide down to his waist, pulling him flush against his broad chest.

The alpha’s tongue sweeps along the seam of Louis’ lips, and he opens for him instantly, sighing into the kiss. It makes Louis’ knees threaten to buckle as their tongues move fluidly with one another. 

A muffled wolf whistle pierces the air, followed by an unmistakable, “Get in there, Styles!”

The stadium erupts into cheers once again, but this time it’s not just for the game—it’s for them.

Louis faintly registers Niall’s whooping, Zayn and Liam laughing and clapping, and Leigh-Anne shrieking something unintelligible.

But he doesn’t care.

Because Harry’s lips are warm and plush against his, and the alpha is holding him like he never wants to let go.

Louis moans softly into Harry’s mouth, curling his fingers into the short, damp hair at the nape of the alpha’s neck. He sways slightly into him, practically melting in his arms.

Harry groans lowly, deepening the kiss for a lingering moment before pulling back.

They part, breathing heavily, their foreheads pressed together.

Louis’ chest heaves, his lips tingling. When he dazedly opens his eyes, he finds Harry staring at him, completely wrecked. His eyes are hooded, pupils blown wide with want, lips pink and swollen.

The alpha’s voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“God, you’re gonna be the death of me, omega.”

Louis’ stomach flips violently at the way Harry purrs the word with reverence, his voice thick and syrupy.

His lips curve into a breathless, mischievous grin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Harry’s mouth twitches into a crooked smirk, and just as he leans in for another kiss—

“Louis!”

The familiar voice makes him freeze.

He blinks in surprise before turning, only to be tackled by Levi, who nearly barrels him to the ground.

“Holy shit, that was awesome!” Levi exclaims, wrapping his arms around him in a tight, bone-crushing hug. “You were amazing!”

Louis lets out a breathless laugh, hugging his twin just as tightly. The warmth of his brother’s pride makes his throat tighten unexpectedly.

“Thanks, Levi,” he breathes against his twin’s shoulder, holding on for a second longer.

When they finally pull apart, Louis notices Zoey standing several feet away, hugging herself awkwardly. Her expression is hesitant, her eyes flicking between Levi and the ground.

Her lips part slightly when she catches Louis’ gaze, and she quickly averts her eyes, looking utterly dejected.

Louis’ heart softens.

His lips curl into a knowing smile. He exchanges a brief glance with Harry, who smirks at him, clearly catching on.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs quietly to Levi, lowering his voice. “I have just the person I want you to properly meet.”

Levi furrows his brows slightly, confused. “Huh?”

But before he can protest, Louis takes his twin by the wrist and tugs him toward Zoey.

Zoey’s eyes widen slightly when they approach, and she quickly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, clearly caught off guard.

Louis offers her a warm smile before gesturing toward his brother.

“Zoey Hawthorne,” he says softly, his voice gentle but playful. “Meet the real Levi Tomlinson.” His eyes sparkle with meaning. “I think you two might really get along.”

Zoey’s lips part slightly, her eyes flickering between Louis and Levi with visible uncertainty.

But then her gaze lands on Levi properly. And this time, her breath catches.

Her eyes soften as she takes him in—the striking resemblance to Louis, but with subtle differences. The sharper cut of his jaw, the slightly wider build, and the distinctly alpha presence.

Her cheeks flush slightly.

Levi, meanwhile, offers her a lopsided grin—the same crooked, mischievous smile Louis has—but with just a hint more cockiness. His eyes sparkle as he holds out his elbow.

“Hey,” Levi greets casually, his voice low and charming. “So, I might not be as cute as my brother, but I promise I’m at least twice as fun.”

Zoey blinks once before a shy, genuine smile spreads across her lips. She slides her hand through the crook of his elbow, letting him guide her away from the field.

Louis watches as they walk off together, quietly chatting, and his chest swells. He grins, pleased with himself.

He turns back toward Harry, whose eyes are already on him. The alpha’s lips twitch into a teasing smirk as he extends his hand toward Louis.

“Playing matchmaker now, hm?” Harry drawls, his voice laced with fond amusement.

Louis chuckles softly, slipping his hand into Harry’s much larger one. Their fingers lace together effortlessly.

“She’s way better off with him than she ever would’ve been with me,” Louis teases with a playful grin.

Harry squeezes his hand gently, tugging him closer. “Damn right,” he murmurs softly, his eyes twinkling.

There’s a beat of quiet between them, their hands still intertwined.

Then, Harry’s voice dips lower, a hopeful rasp.

“So… I was wondering,” he starts, suddenly shy, rubbing his thumb over Louis’ knuckles. “If maybe I could… take you out. Like on a proper date.”

Louis blinks up at him, caught off guard. His stomach flips, and his heart stutters slightly at how uncharacteristically bashful the alpha suddenly looks.

He doesn’t hesitate.

“I would love that,” he beams, his face nearly splitting from how wide he smiles.

Harry’s face lights up, but then he lowers his voice to a soft, hopeful rumble.

“Tonight?” he asks tentatively, his thumb brushing over the back of Louis’ hand.

Louis lets out a breathless laugh, giddy warmth filling his chest.

He glances over his shoulder at the crowd, the field still buzzing with post-game energy, then looks back at Harry, grinning mischievously.

“I think that can be arranged,” he teases lightly, leaning in.

Harry’s grin grows, his eyes flashing with excitement. He lifts Louis’ hand, bringing it to his lips, and presses a lingering kiss to his knuckles.

Louis feels the warmth of it spread through his entire body.

And as the crowd cheers and their teammates celebrate in the background, Harry’s green eyes stay fixed on him.

Because even with the victory, the glory, and the celebration—he only has eyes for Louis.

***

Louis can barely contain his excitement as he gets ready for his date with Harry at his dad’s house. After the game, he and Levi had sat their parents down and told them everything.

Their dad hadn’t really cared. If anything, he seemed pleased that both of his sons were out there chasing their dreams. He had simply clapped them on the back with a proud grin and said, “That’s my boys.”

Their mom, however, was less forgiving. She had gone on a long-winded rant about how irresponsible they were, her voice rising with every scolding word. She had chewed them out thoroughly for their deception and the danger Louis had put himself in by going up against stronger alphas and betas.

But of course, Levi got off easier—because he was an alpha. Meanwhile, Louis had to endure the disobedient omega lecture. The whole “you’re too delicate to be doing something so reckless” spiel that made him want to roll his eyes right out of his head.

Still, she had softened considerably when Louis beamed and told her how he had won the game.

The pride in his eyes had been impossible to miss, and despite herself, she hadn’t been able to stay angry. She could see how happy he was—how alive he felt—and that had been enough.

So, she let him off the hook. No grounding.

Which was a relief, because there was no way Louis was about to miss his date with Harry.

Now, standing in front of the mirror in his childhood bedroom, he makes sure he looks his absolute best—because this time, there’s no mask, no pretending. Harry knows exactly who he is. All of him.

He carefully styles his hair, brushing it out until his fringe falls soft and feathery over his forehead. It frames his face perfectly, making his eyes look brighter and his cheekbones more defined.

His outfit is calculated—strategic even. The tight graphic tee clings in all the right places, showing off his toned arms and the subtle curve of his waist. But it’s the leggings that are the true showstopper.

They hug his legs and ass like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. When he turns slightly, inspecting himself from the side, he smirks.

Yeah… Harry’s definitely not going to be able to keep his hands to himself.

Satisfied, Louis steps back from the mirror and lets out a slow breath, a nervous flutter in his chest.

He smooths his hands down the front of his shirt, biting his lip slightly. His heart is pounding harder than it had before the game. Because this isn’t just any date—this is their first date. No lies. No secrets. Just them.

When Harry picks him up, the alpha’s eyes sweep over him, darkening with unmistakable desire. His gaze lingers, taking in every inch of Louis’ carefully chosen outfit—the tight graphic tee clinging to his chest and the leggings hugging his curves like a second skin.

“God, you look beautiful,” Harry breathes, his voice low and reverent, as if he can’t believe the omega in front of him is his.

Louis flushes under the praise, ducking his head slightly but unable to hide the pleased smile tugging at his lips.

For their date, Harry takes him bowling. The night is lighthearted and fun, filled with laughter and playful banter. Louis easily beats the alpha, but he has a sneaking suspicion that Harry is letting him win. He doesn’t call him out on it, though—he rather enjoys the smug satisfaction of watching Harry pretend to be a sore loser.

Afterward, they share a burger and fries, sitting close in their booth. Occasionally, Harry feeds Louis a fry, smirking as he watches Louis lick the salt from his lips. The omega, in turn, offers Harry bites of his burger, giggling when the alpha playfully nips at his fingers.

They consider playing in the arcade, but the tension that’s been simmering between them all night—the weeks of pent-up desire—makes the decision for them. Without a word, they head back to Louis’ dad’s house.

By some stroke of luck, the place is empty. His dad is out with a lady friend, and Levi is at their mom’s, leaving them the whole house to themselves.

And they waste no time.

The second Louis’ bedroom door clicks shut, Harry is on him, gripping his cheeks and crashing their mouths together in a heated, hungry kiss.

“God, Louis,” Harry groans against his lips, his voice rough with need. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you for so long. Even when I thought you were an alpha.”

Louis laughs breathlessly, tugging at the alpha’s shirt. “What makes you think I would’ve let you top me if I was an alpha?” he teases, arching a brow.

Harry smirks wickedly, pushing him back onto the bed. “Because you’re so tiny and delicate.” His eyes rake over Louis’ frame possessively, his voice dropping to a growl. “And an ass like yours deserves to be worshipped.”

Louis whines, slick pooling at the alpha’s words, making his thighs clench. He quickly rips his shirt off and tugs at Harry’s until the alpha peels it over his head, leaving them both shirtless.

“Fuck,” Harry growls, raking his eyes over Louis’ bare skin before diving down to latch onto a nipple.

Louis keens, arching into the wet heat of Harry’s mouth, fingers tangling in the alpha’s curls. His head tips back against the pillows, thighs falling open slightly, desperate for more.

“You know how many times I had to stop myself from getting wet around you?” he pants, voice trembling. “Especially during practice. You’d be all sweaty and alpha and smell so fucking good.”

Harry lifts his head, his eyes dark and pupils blown. “Yeah?” he rasps. “That’s so fucking hot.” He nips lightly at Louis’ chest before adding, “You have no idea how hard it was to control myself. I—” His eyes flash with heat. “I jerked off in the showers after practice once.”

Louis’ breath hitches.

Harry’s voice is low and filthy as he adds, “Seeing your bare ass in the locker room that one day? I couldn’t not think about you while I was getting myself off.”

Louis moans, the vivid image of Harry in the shower, wet and breathless, fisting his cock while thinking about him making his hole clench involuntarily.

“Fuck, Harry,” he whimpers, trembling with need. “Please.”

Harry’s gaze softens slightly at the desperation in his voice, his hands soothing over Louis’ sides. “I’ve got you, omega,” he murmurs reassuringly.

With steady hands, he tugs down Louis’ leggings and panties in one smooth motion, leaving him completely bare.

The alpha’s eyes darken as he takes him in—the pretty, flushed cock resting against his stomach, the tip leaking onto his skin. And lower, his hole glistening with slick, shiny and inviting.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, brushing his knuckles over Louis’ hips reverently. “I’m so lucky to have you like this.”

Louis whines softly, reaching for him. “I wanna see you too.”

Harry obliges without hesitation, standing to shuck off his jeans and boxers in one go. Louis’ eyes widen slightly as his gaze drops.

The alpha’s cock is long, thick, and heavy, flushed a deep red at the tip, already slick with precome. It bobs slightly as Harry climbs back onto the bed, and Louis’ throat goes dry.

“You’re… really big,” he murmurs, equal parts intimidated and turned on.

Harry smirks smugly. “I know.” But he notices Louis’ slight hesitation, and his expression softens as he gently rubs the omega’s thighs. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll go slow.” He kisses the inside of his knee before adding, “Turn over for me.”

Louis obeys, rolling onto his hands and knees, arching obscenely for the alpha. He hears Harry’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of his slick, glistening hole on full display.

“God, look at you,” Harry rasps, voice filled with awe. “I’m going to take such good care of you, omega.”

He leans down, and Louis shudders at the feel of the alpha’s hot breath against his rim before a broad, wet tongue drags over his hole.

Louis gasps.

No one’s ever rimmed him before. His exes had always been more focused on their own pleasure. But Harry is devouring him like he’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.

“You taste so fucking good,” Harry groans, lapping at his slick greedily before fucking his tongue into him.

Louis sobs into the pillows, hips twitching with every thrust of Harry’s tongue. His cock drips steadily against the sheets, pleasure crackling through his nerves.

As if sensing how close he is, Harry reaches around and grips Louis’ cock, tugging in time with the motions of his tongue.

Louis’ eyes roll back. His thighs tremble violently, and with a broken, wrecked cry, he spills into Harry’s hand.

Harry works him through the aftershocks before sitting back on his knees. But Louis barely has time to catch his breath before he feels two of Harry’s long fingers sliding into him.

The stretch is delicious, but it’s not enough.

“Alpha,” Louis whines, wiggling his hips. “I don’t need your fingers. I need your cock.”

Harry’s pupils blow wide, and his voice is a low, filthy growl. “Does my omega want to be split open on my cock?” He scissors his fingers inside him, making Louis gasp. “You want it to hurt, huh? Want to feel me everywhere?”

“Yes,” Louis begs, voice cracking. “Want you to break me.”

Harry groans deeply, pulling his fingers free and slicking his cock with Louis’ wetness.

“Alright, baby. I’ll give you what you want,” he growls.

Louis barely has time to breathe before he feels the thick head of Harry’s cock pressing against his hole. With a slow, steady push, Harry eases in inch by inch until he bottoms out, his hips flush with Louis’ ass.

Louis chokes on a gasp, fingers clenching in the sheets as he struggles to adjust to the overwhelming stretch.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Harry growls, gripping his hips. He withdraws slightly before snapping his hips forward with a rough thrust.

The slight burn is quickly overtaken by pure pleasure as Harry fucks him hard and deep, slamming into his prostate with every stroke.

“No other alpha could fuck you like this, hm?” Harry pants, draping himself over Louis’ back and wrapping a hand around his throat possessively.

“Only you,” Louis moans, shivering at the feeling of Harry’s fingers pressing over his bond spot.

“Can I knot you?” Harry growls. “Want you so fucking full of me.”

“Yes, alpha! Knot me, please, need it,” Louis sobs, desperate.

With a deep, feral groan, Harry’s knot swells and locks them together. The fullness sends Louis over the edge, his cock untouched as he spills over the sheets with a broken wail.

As they come down from their aftershocks, Harry lays then on their sides in a more comfortable position to wait out his knot and presses soft, reverent kisses to Louis’ neck, licking over his bond spot.

“Louis… I want you. I know it’s soon but I want to bond you, have pups with you. Be your mate. Not right now of course but I’ve never felt this way about an omega before.”

Louis smiles dreamily, blissfully sated. “I want that too, Harry. More than anything.”

And as they lay tangled together, Louis knows he’s exactly where he belongs—with the alpha who was meant to be his.