Chapter Text
Louis wiped sweat from his brow, dust stinging beneath his eyelids. Thick calluses mapped the backs of his hands—souvenirs from years of gripping rough timber and hauling heavy loads. The clang of metal still rang faintly in his ears, the relentless noise of the site refusing to fade.
Concrete dust clung stubbornly to the creases of his skin.
He kicked off his boots at the door and dropped his bag beside the chipped kitchen counter. The flat was small, a cramped patchwork of faded band posters, scattered guitar picks, and a battered notebook lying open on the couch. The place smelled faintly of old sweat and cheap detergent.
Home.
Louis rolled his shoulders, wincing as tired muscles protested the movement. The clock on the microwave read 8:12. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Ugh. Missed homework and dinner again.
Nan was going to kill him. Lottie would probably text him about it later.
The twins were probably failing fractions at this point.
Not for the first time in the last few years, Louis felt like he was drowning. Ever since Mum and Fizzy passed.
Nan and Pop have it under control, he told himself. Phoebe and Daisy are fine.
His fingers fumbled for his phone, planning to call the girls to say goodnight.
The cool glass felt strange against his rough skin. The screen lit up immediately.
A message.
Harry.
The name alone sparked a familiar knot low in his chest—something halfway between nerves and anticipation.
The digital glow felt like a doorway to another world.
One that was calmer than the one he was used to. No concrete dust. No homework arguments.
And far more unpredictable.
The message blinked on the screen.
You’re awfully quiet there, Lou. Planning to keep me waiting all night?
Louis stared at the words, his thumb hovering above the keyboard. The weight of the day settled deeper into his shoulders.
Distracted from his original plan, he started typing.
Stopped. Deleted the sentence. Tried again.
Vulnerability in these moments always felt like walking a tightrope—one misstep and everything might unravel.
Finally he typed:
Sorry. Rough day pouring concrete in this heat.
He stared at the message for another moment before hitting send.
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
Harry was fast like that.
Concrete, huh? Strong omega, don’t let it swallow you.
Louis let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Cut the coddling, Haz.
A few seconds passed.
Then Harry replied.
Careful, Lou. Someone might start worrying about you.
Louis huffed quietly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. The place where sweat had dried felt tight and itchy beneath his fingers.
I can handle myself.
The typing bubble appeared again.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared once more.
Louis leaned back against the couch cushions, the worn fabric dipping beneath his weight.
Finally the next message arrived.
Ready to stop hiding? I want to see you.
Louis froze.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
The faded posters, the narrow walls, the worn furniture—it all seemed to press closer around him.
Meeting Harry.
The thought had hovered between them for weeks now, always just out of reach. Easy to joke about. Easy to delay.
But the words on the screen made it real.
Louis swallowed.
His fingers hovered over the phone again.
Typed. Deleted.Typed again.
His chest tightened the way it sometimes did at work when something went wrong with the concrete mix—when everything suddenly felt too heavy, too complicated to fix.
He forced himself to breathe.
Finally he sent:
I—I think I’m ready.
The message delivered with a soft pulse.
Louis stared at the screen for a moment longer before locking the phone.
Harry knew he was an omega.
What he didn’t know was that Louis Tomlinson spent most of his life pretending otherwise.
Louis set the phone aside and leaned back against the couch.
The flat was quiet again.
Too quiet.
He reached for the blanket draped over the armrest, bunching the fabric beneath his hands before he even realized what he was doing.
The worn cotton felt warm and familiar against his palms.
The tension in his shoulders eased a little.
Outside, the distant noise of the city drifted through the thin walls of the building.
Inside the flat, Louis sat very still.
And wondered what the hell he had just agreed to