pretty please (with sugar on top) - larry stylinson

49

Time passed slowly with little change. Harry hid out in his apartment, always either listening to music while curled up in bed, or staring at the blank walls in silence. He ate comfort food like mac 'n' cheese and chicken noodle soup, drank countless cups of tea, and took long, hot showers, soaking up the steam and crying until he couldn't cry anymore. It was a relief to let it out, to release all of the emotions he couldn't describe.

He stared at his phone and waited for Louis to call him. Or text him. Or give any indication that he was thinking about Harry. Any indication that their week together meant something to him. He waited for an explanation, an answer. A reason as to why he hadn't responded, why he was going through Niall to ask about Harry when he could've done it himself, why he was being an asshole or a coward or whatever it was that was that made him pull back.

Harry told himself he would be okay if Louis told him he wasn't interested, he didn't care for him like that, he didn't want all the baggage that came having a bondmate like Harry. He told himself he would be okay if Louis called just to say he didn't want him. Just to say Harry wasn't good enough for him, not what he wanted or needed, not what he pictured when he thought about love or soulmates. He told himself he would be okay if Louis was just honest and open and said he couldn't do it. It was the silence that was killing him, not the answer.

All of these awful thoughts were running through his mind, and he learned to keep them to himself after Niall chastised him for hours after he admitted he understood why Louis didn't want an omega like him. Niall was unreasonable, Niall didn't get it. Louis had rejected him.

Late one night, Harry found the courage to sift through online research articles about soulmates. He read the ones that weren't hidden behind a paywall and tried not to worry with the new information that he would spend the rest of his life longing for something he couldn't have.

He stared at his online banking information, at the total amount of money in his savings account. He stared at the stuffed animal from the carnival resting on his bed, the one he cuddled every night. He stared at his fading tan in the mirror when he stepped out of the shower. He stared at the write-up from his doctor. He stared at the ring on his finger. He wondered if he should take it off.

"I'll talk to him," Zayn said, exactly a week after Harry's panic attack and the awkward sleepover that resulted. They were kind of friends again. Harry was at Zayn's place again, lying on the floor in front of the tv, flipping through a Cosmo magazine and squinting at his horoscope. It offered nothing helpful.

"Talk to who?" Even though he already knew who.

Zayn was observing him from the couch. "I've never seen you like this before, over an alpha or otherwise. You're a mess."

"Oh, yeah, I'm totally fine, Zayn, let me just not react to the fact that I have a soulmate who is ghosting me. Let me just go back to how things were before I knew I was doomed to a life of yearning for someone who doesn't want me back. Let me just ignore my own flaws and shortcomings even though there's obviously a multitude of reasons why he ran for the hills the first chance he got. Let me just-"

A pillow whomped him in the face, knocking the magazine out of his hands. He sat up and glared the most menacing glare he could muster.

"What happened to independence?" Zayn wondered, going back to sketching a hyper-realistic picture of Liam. Smiling, happy, in love Liam. Ever since they bonded, Zayn's entire portfolio was full of different renditions of Liam. "What happened to being a badass omega who doesn't need an alpha?"

Harry shifted his glare to cheerful, sketched Liam. "I have a soulmate who does not want me, are you even listening to me?"

"You have a soulmate who doesn't know you're his soulmate," Zayn corrected. He pulled the sketch closer to himself like he was protecting Liam's likeness from Harry's bad juju.

Harry ignored him. "I have a soulmate who thinks I'm worthless and ugly. I'm a bad omega, so bad that he doesn't want me even though we're meant to be together-"

Zayn chucked another pillow at him, smacking him in the face. His aim was impeccable.

"You're not a bad omega. You're just a human being, living your life. And I know you know Louis doesn't think any of that is true. I know you know how much he cares about you, even from only knowing each other for a week."

"I don't know what I know anymore."

"A god damn drama queen." In his effortlessly cool manner, Zayn set his sketchbook aside and crossed the room, pulling Harry off the ground and squeezing his biceps. His face said he was unimpressed, but his scent signals were concerned. Comfort and reassurance flooded Harry, the kind only an omega could offer. It was impossible to feel hollow inside when his old best friend was sharing pheromones with him, reminding him in that subtle, nonverbal way that everything was going to be okay. "I said, I'm going to call Louis, and we're going to figure this out. There must be some miscommunication, some reason why he's ignoring you. I refuse to believe Louis of all people would do something like this."

He steered Harry over to the couch and tossed a blanket to him, gently this time. He pulled out his phone as Harry wrapped his arms around his knees, and when he dialed the number, they both held their breath.

It rang, and rang, and rang. It went to voicemail.

Zayn tried again. Harry wondered why Louis picked up that night when he was on the street, lost and panicking. Why that time, of all the times Harry called? How had he known Harry was in trouble? Or had it just been luck?

They tried five more times. On the fifth, Zayn left an annoyed-sounding voicemail in his typical bored drawl, the kind that said he was unimpressed. Harry drank a bunch of wine and then passed out while complaining into Zayn's lap, Zayn's fingers stroking through his hair.

In the morning, Liam drove them to brunch, where they ate too many breakfast foods all at once and danced around the topic as to why Harry was such a mess. Hence, the beginning of a weekly ritual.