Archive of Our Own

It was not Zayn’s decision to hire Harry.

It wasn’t that Zayn bought into the belief that having an omega bartender might be unsafe, or that it cost more to insure, or any other variation of negative stereotypes against omegas that made Zayn less than keen on the idea of hiring him. It wasn’t even that he thought Harry was personally incapable of tending bar. No, it wasn’t any of those things that made Zayn groan dramatically when Liam told him he’d hired Harry four months ago.

Rather, it was because he was kind of in love with him.

Zayn had met Harry in one of his business classes and was instantly endeared by his dimples and curls and apparent inability to button more than two buttons of his shirts. Harry was friendly and talkative from the first day of class, blatantly ignoring the unspoken rule about sitting at least two seats away from the closest person on the first day, and instead plopping down in the seat right next to Zayn.

“’M always so nervous the first day of class,” he’d said without preamble. “Always expect the professor to secretly be sitting in a student desk somewhere, spying or summat. Probably watched too many films,” he rambled, pulling a leather notebook and pens out of his satchel, elbows and knees knocking into Zayn unapologetically.

Zayn had watched him with disbelief. He was beautiful, tanned skin and weird tattoos on display in a way that seemed somehow innocent and provocative at the same time. It was like an accidental side effect of being carefree and a purposeful ploy for attention all in one look.

He kept staring, too taken aback to even think about wiping the dumb-struck look off his face. Each time they collided, Zayn would jump back a bit as if he was being shocked, but Harry didn’t seem fazed by any of it.

“Wait!” Harry said suddenly, making Zayn jump yet again. His green eyes were wide as he slowly looked up at Zayn. “You aren’t the professor, are you?”

Zayn gave him an incredulous look at that, still unable to wrap his head around this creature. “Do I look like a professor?”

“No, not if we’re going by real life standards,” Harry shook his head, face still very serious. “But if we’re going by the film standards I was talking about earlier, then yeah, you could totally be the professor.”

There was a compliment in there, probably, but it was so unabashed and unexpected, just like everything about Harry thus far, Zayn missed it.

“I’m not the professor mate,” Zayn smirked as Harry released a sigh of relief.

For the rest of the semester Zayn got to be endlessly endeared and entertained by Harry’s quirkiness. He was a constant source of unexpected questions, unprompted compliments, and unfiltered commentary. His state of undress never really went away, just varied in degrees of nakedness, and Zayn found himself looking forward to business class for the first time in his three years at Uni.

The close proximity Harry always kept, which would normally be off-putting and uncomfortable for Zayn, became something he craved, and he found himself opening up to Harry more than he did almost anyone.

Their conversations were never too serious in nature, but the fact that they were having them regularly was serious enough for Zayn. It had taken him nearly three years to be as comfortable with Liam as he had become with Harry, and they were roommates and best friends.

“Stressed?” Harry had asked him one day upon entering the lecture hall. He hadn’t even said hello yet, just set a coffee cup in front of Zayn and asked him if he was stressed.

“That obvious?” Zayn responded, tilting the coffee cup towards Harry in thanks before taking a sip.

“Can smell it on you, yeah,” Harry nodded, running his fingers through his long curls.

Zayn felt a surge run through him at that reminder of their biology. It was a fact of life, but it was always one that Zayn considered private and intimate, not something you discuss openly with the guy you sit next to in Business 345.

Instead of acknowledging that, Zayn just answered his question. “We’re short bartenders. I’ve been working doubles all week and I didn’t do the reading for class today.”

“Just more legality bullshit,” Harry had shrugged. “I’ll volunteer a couple answers so he doesn’t cold call from our section today.”

Later that evening, when Zayn showed up to work, Harry was there, shaking hands with Liam.

Which is how Zayn ended up here.

It’s Friday night and Harry’s beaming at a customer, convincing him to make his drink a double. The customer agrees, of course he does, and eyes Harry shamelessly as he pours the drink and serves it to him.

“Have fun,” Harry grins. The customer drops two tenners into the tip jar with a wink and Zayn grinds his teeth.

The bar is more packed than it ever would have been four months ago and it’s not a coincidence that Harry also started four months ago. He’s been drawing in costumers like crazy and Zayn can’t even be mad. His help-pay-for-Uni job as a bar manager has suddenly become more lucrative than the career he’s going to Uni for. The tip jar is never less than 400£ and Harry refuses to split it anything but equally with whoever else is working the bar with him, even though he pulls 90% of those tips.

Damn those sheer shirts.

When three o’clock finally rolls around and the last customer is gone, Zayn’s exhausted. He’s not sure what has tired him out more though, running around to fill drink orders for the hundreds of customers he’s had, or watching Harry do the same in his frustratingly tight jeans and sheer black button up with a majority of the buttons unemployed.

Zayn watches Harry’s shoulders flex beneath the sheer fabric of said shirt as he lifts a barstool onto one of the tables. He lets his eyes wander down to Harry’s tiny, narrow hips and pert little arse, feeling his mouth water and fingers start to twitch.

It’s torture, working with Harry. He’s still as charming and unapologetic as ever, but he’s even more out of reach than he was before. Zayn’s technically his boss, and he’s an alpha. The last thing he wants to do is use either of those positions to take advantage.

Harry finishes putting the chairs up then and makes his way around the bar. “You wanna sweep or you want me to?” Harry asks, hand on Zayn’s waist as he slides behind him to drop his dish rag in the sink. “I can take over these dishes if you want? Or count the till?” He’s closer to Zayn than absolutely necessary and it overwhelms him. His scent is strong after working so hard all night and it makes Zayn want to nuzzle his neck and taste the skin there.

“Zayn?” Harry asks, placing his hand gently on Zayn’s bicep.

“Sorry,” Zayn shakes his head. He actively tries not to picture Harry gripping his biceps as Zayn fucks into him, but it’s not easy. “I uh, I really don’t care mate.”

Harry shifts his weight on his feet and bites his lip before meeting Zayn’s eyes. He seems impossibly closer than he was before and although he’s removed his hand, no longer touching Zayn anywhere, he’s still managing to invade all of Zayn’s senses.

“Can you please just tell me what you want?” Harry’s voice is pleading, but sure.

Zayn swallows thickly at the implication there. Obviously Harry is referring to which task Zayn wants him to fill but it doesn’t stop him from thinking about other things.

Harry grins at Zayn then, as if he can see where his mind’s gone and loves that he sent it there. It’s annoying, but it breaks the tension enough to allow Zayn to shove him playfully and roll his eyes.

“Twat,” he chuckles. “You can sweep and do the dishes for that one.”

“Fair enough,” Harry’s still grinning as he turns back to the sink.

The music is still playing from earlier, just at a slightly lower volume, and Harry is singing along in his normal fashion. Zayn smirks to himself as he shakes his hips to the beat and occasionally uses the glass he’s cleaning as a microphone. He’s the most endearing and entertaining person Zayn’s ever met, he thinks.

Once Harry’s finished with the dishes he gets right to sweeping. Uptown Funk starts to play at some point and the act of actually sweeping is postponed in favor of dancing with the broom – sometimes rather suggestively. He dances behind the bar to Zayn and mouths along to the lyrics, “Make a dragon wanna retire, man,” while pointing to the snake inked into Zayn’s shoulder.

“’S a snake mate,” Zayn laughs lightly, endlessly amused by Harry as he proceeds to ‘hit his hallelujahs’ along with the music, posing dramatically with the broom for each one.

When the lyrics, “Stop! What a minute,” sound, Harry stops abruptly and grabs a whisky glass from the shelf, turning to Zayn and holding it out to him. “Fill my cup, put some liquor in it,” he sings, indicating to the rows of liquor behind them.

Zayn rolls his eyes and grabs a bottle of Amaretto, playing along with a liquor sweet enough for Harry, who grins at him before throwing it back. The show doesn’t end there though, as Harry proceeds to shimmy around with the broom in one hand and the empty glass in another, kissing his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar when the lyrics announce, “gotta kiss myself I’m so pretty.”

When the song finally ends, Zayn hops down from the stool he was sitting on and claps slowly, earning a dimpled grin from Harry.

“That was quite a show Mr. Styles,” Zayn laughs. “We should start selling tickets.”

Harry laughs and shakes his head, a slight blush coloring his cheeks in a way that’s prettier than Zayn would care to admit.

“You’re cleaning the mirror too,” Zayn jokes, pointing at the smudge Harry’s lips had made during his performance.

“Yes sir,” Harry grins.

They work in relative quiet after that, Harry sweeping and cleaning the mirror while Zayn counts the till and tip jar. They made more than usual in tips and Zayn feels a pang of guilt at the thought of taking half of it. He knows full well he only brought in a quarter of the earnings and he wonders not for the first time why Harry is here.

“Harry, can I ask you something?” Zayn’s voice is low as Harry puts away the glass cleaner and turns to face him. His answer is a shrug and a nod, fingers running through his hair and arms folding across his chest. “Why did you take this job? Why’d you even apply for it?”

Harry shrugs again, bottom lip jutting out thoughtfully as he leans his hip against the bar. “You said you needed help.” He says it so simply, his tone the same as the time he’d offered to volunteer answers to distract the professor from an unprepared Zayn; his expression the same as when he’d set a coffee in front of him on the desk before class. It’s like it’s obvious, that he would do this and all those other things for Zayn.

“Did you need a job though?” Zayn asks. He’s flattered and grateful but also a bit bewildered by Harry’s honesty and generosity.

“Doesn’t hurt,” Harry shrugs yet again, as if this whole conversation goes without saying.

Zayn considers asking Harry to quit, not just the job, but in general. To quit being so nice and selfless. To quit making Zayn want him more than he already does.

Harry must see Zayn’s struggle because he unfolds his arms then and steps forward, resting a hand on Zayn’s shoulder and willing him to meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he says gently. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do, yeah?”

Zayn watches him carefully, looks into his green eyes and tries desperately not to get lost in them. He’s absolutely beautiful, and open in a way Zayn’s never seen in anyone before. He nods slightly, feeling a bit hypnotized.

“I like you and Liam, and I really like this gig. I even sort of like Louis.” He smiles when that gets a chuckle out of Zayn. Louis is Liam’s boyfriend of like, 300 years, and while he is on the payroll as a bartender, he’s really more of a resident nuisance most of the time.

“You really are a saint, aren’t you?” Zayn jokes.

Harry’s laugh vibrates through Zayn’s whole body and he thinks briefly that he’d like to curl up in Harry’s eye-crinkles. Or maybe his dimples. So many facial features he could nap in, how does one choose?

“Are we good then?” Harry asks, still laughing slightly. “I don’t want you to feel like I ever do anything for any reason other than I want to, okay?”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, feeling lighter already.

“We’ve side-stepped the whole Harry’s-an-omega conversation and I’m grateful to you and Liam both for that,” Harry continues. “I’ve never felt lesser around you guys and that’s important to me, but it’s also important that we all know just how much of a non-issue it is, yeah?” His voice is slow and his words are careful, just like they always are when Harry speaks. Zayn watches his mouth move around his words and tries not to get lost there, even though it would be so easy to. “I’m on every suppressant in the books and I work hard to make sure no one could ever describe me as weak.”

“That much is obvious,” Zayn mutters without thinking, eyes traveling over Harry’s toned torso, which is of course, completely on display in his sheer shirt.

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “I was talking about like, mentally and emotionally or whatever, but thanks for noticing.”

Zayn blushes and Harry shifts the conversation back on track.

“I consider you a friend, and I’m just happy to help out. I also like the paycheck and the distraction from school. So no more worrying about me, got it?”

“Got it,” Zayn nods. “Thanks Haz.”

“Don’t mention it,” Harry shakes his head. “Are we all set here or is there anything else you want me to do?”

“No, we’re all set,” Zayn shrugs and takes one last look around. “Have a good night Harry.”

“You too,” Harry waves. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

With that, he grabs his jacket and makes his way out into the night, leaving Zayn to watch him and pine even harder for him than he ever has before.

“Leeeeeeeyummm,” Zayn whines as he steps into their apartment, tossing his keys into the dish on the windowsill and kicking off his boots.

“Zaaaaaaaaaayn,” Liam mimics from the living room. “I take it work was a bit rough tonight?”

He’s watching some football match on the telly and eating what appears to be cold chicken breast from a Ziploc.

“What are you eating?” Zayn asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Chicken,” Liam shrugs, not taking his eyes from the TV. “’S good protein.”

“Yes but does it have to be cold?”

“Probably not but I was too lazy to heat it proper. It’s leg day.”

“Right,” Zayn nods. Liam is constantly saying things like, “It’s leg day,” or “It’s arm day,” or “It’s Paleo,” as if they are perfectly reasonable explanations for things. Zayn gave up trying to understand them years ago.

“So anyway, how was work? How was Harry?” Liam asks, turning to Zayn for the first time since he walked in.

“Ugh,” Zayn groans, throwing his head back against the sofa.

“I still don’t know why you don’t just go for it with him. He’s gotta be into you to work at our shitty bar.”

“Our bar is not shit,” Zayn pouts, “and that’s not the point.”

“Look, I know the alpha thing has always been a bit hard for you to accept,” Liam turns his body fully towards Zayn then.

He’s right, Zayn’s never been too keen on the idea of being an alpha. He doesn’t have an aggressive bone in his body and he hates the idea of being able to get something that he wants because of his biology. For that reason, he’s always steered clear of omegas, opting instead to hang out with other alphas and betas.

“But,” Liam continues, “I still think you’ve got it all wrong in your head, what it means to be an alpha. First of all, you’ve seen Louis and me. I’m wrapped around his little finger, utterly hopeless for him. Being an alpha has this reputation for being dominant but in reality it’s about being whatever your omega needs. Second of all, even if omegas were these weak, easily manipulated beings – which, let me remind you again of Louis – I don’t think you’d have to worry about that with Haz. I mean, his shoulders are almost broader than mine.”

For once Zayn actually understands Liam’s use of anatomy as an explanation. Harry was not at all what one might consider a typical omega physically. He was tall, taller than Zayn by at least three inches, and very solidly built. He was long and lean, but very strong, something Zayn knew very well considering he had been drooling over it regularly for the past six months.

“Yeah, I know, but it still feels like I’d be taking advantage or summat,” Zayn sighs. “I’m his boss and we’re friends, Harry said so himself tonight. I just can’t cross that line.”

“Alright mate, suit yourself,” Liam says, turning his attention back to the television. “But just know Louis and I both think you’re being silly.”

“Louis switched out your shampoo with toothpaste last week. Do the two of you really think you have any business calling me silly?” Zayn closes his eyes, unbothered by Liam’s comments and the pillow he is hit in the stomach with.

The next few weeks are long. Summer is officially in full swing which means the boys aren’t taking classes and the bar has nearly all of their attention.

It also means that Harry wears even less clothing than he had before, and not a day goes by that Zayn isn’t bombarded with his nipples.

Zayn isn’t the only one that’s noticing either, as there are at least ten regulars now that come in just for Harry. He flirts with all of them, memorizing their orders and dimpling at them constantly. He wears his hair in a bun a lot and Zayn’s not sure if it’s his exposed neck, the summer heat, or Harry’s attraction to one of these men, but he smells damn near intoxicating on a daily basis.

He’s not proud of it, but Zayn watches Harry’s interactions closely. He notices each laugh, each touch, and each whisper. When Harry lets one regular, a tall guy with dark scruff and perfectly coifed hair, grab him by the hips and pull him in to whisper something in his ear, Zayn nearly growls. It gets worse when Harry reaches for the guy’s phone and types something into it, the guy’s eyes trailing over Harry as his fingers dig firmly into his hips.

Harry’s grinning when he leaves the customer’s table and Zayn feels a bit like punching someone. He knows he’s supposed to be friends with Harry and nothing more, but that’s never been easy. It’s especially not so when Harry looks the way he does and goes around giving devastatingly handsome guys his number. Also he’s totally in love with Harry so that’s a frustrating thing.

It’s just impossible not to be. Harry’s gorgeous, obviously, but he’s also clever and fun. He makes Zayn laugh harder than anyone else ever has, and he’s incredibly easy to talk to.

Whenever they work together everything flows so effortlessly. They communicate without words half the time, anticipating each other’s moves and accommodating them without a second thought.

Closing is the same way, only with a lot more laughter, ridiculous singing, and dorky dancing. They had a challenge going at one point where they would toss glasses to each other to the beats of songs, but they had to end that during a badly timed, yet also weirdly perfectly timed incident during Rihanna’s Breaking Dishes.

They also have a tips challenge going, and even though it’s obvious that Harry pulls in more, Harry never admits it. Their tips have skyrocketed nonetheless, and they’ve promised to take a trip somewhere with the money they make at the end of the summer. Louis and Liam became involved and they often joke that Harry’s collection of sheer clothing is going to buy them an all-inclusive trip to the Bahamas in no time.

As easy and wonderful as things have been going during their closing shifts together, there is an unusual level of tension the night Harry gives his number to the beautiful scruffy man. At least, for Zayn there is. Harry carries on as usual, shaking his hips to music and setting freshly washed glasses on the shelves with a twirl.

Zayn stares at Harry’s back, at the way his stupid sheer t-shirt hangs loosely from his broad shoulders. It’s so stupid, how the fabric clings to his upper back and then just flows from there, his waist and hips too narrow to even touch the fabric unless he moves just right. When he does move just right, the fabric dips into every crevice made by his perfectly sculpted muscles, accentuating the black ink of his tattoos and the inevitable hardness of his nipples.

Ogling Harry after hours is nothing new, but the anger he feels this particular evening while he does it is a little out of the ordinary.

“Are you going to hang out with Mr. Perfect Scruff tonight?” Zayn asks out of nowhere, the bitterness in his voice apparent.

Harry turns to Zayn then with a bemused smirk, his eyebrows drawn together in baffled confusion. “Who?” he asks, turning his attention back to the wine glass in his hands.

Who in the hell ordered wine? Zayn wonders momentarily, inexplicably angry about that too for some reason.

“The guy with the hair and the scruff and the hands all over you. I saw you give him your number.” Zayn doesn’t even bother to mask the sullenness in his tone.

Harry turns to Zayn fully then and sets the wine glass in its spot on the shelf. “Zayn,” he states, hands on the bar behind him as he rests his weight against it.

Zayn doesn’t want to look up at him, but he knows that’s what Harry’s waiting for, so he does, hoping his face is as expressionless as he’s trying to seem.

“What’s going on?” Harry asks, eyebrows drawn up expectantly.

“Nothing,” Zayn shakes his head. “Just wondering what your plans are for tonight.”

“Wondering specifically if they involve the attractive guy I was flirting with earlier?”

Zayn shrugs. He’s terrible at acting nonchalant but damn it if he’s going to let that stop him from trying.

“They don’t, for the record,” Harry takes a step closer to Zayn, “But that’s not really the issue here, is it?”

“Just thought you might be hanging out with him. Seemed chummy.” His voice is so clipped he almost cringes at his lack of subtlety. For someone who was described as ‘broody’ and ‘mysterious’ in high school, he’s such an open book it’s ridiculous.

“Chummy?” Harry snickers. “Zayn.”

“Wut?” it’s nearly a snap.

“I didn’t even give him my number. He was giving me shit about not knowing how to tip so I showed him how to calculate one on his phone.”

Zayn feels relief wash over him, his shoulders shrugging as the tension leaves them.

“You do realize though, that I could have given him my number, right?” Harry asks, bringing all the tension back to Zayn with one sentence.

Zayn shrugs for the millionth time, counting the stack of tenners in his hands without actually counting anything. He just needs a distraction, something to look at other than Harry’s expectant face and perfect body. Something that doesn’t make him crazy and jealous and out of control.

“Zayn,” Harry states again.

“I get that, yeah,” Zayn meets his eyes. “Sorry I asked, ‘s not my business.” He wants this conversation to be over, now.  He also wants the floor to open up and swallow him. He wants to find a machine that will suck the annoying infatuation he has with Harry right out of him so he never has to deal with his feelings and his self-destructive decision to never act on them.

“You could make it your business,” Harry steps forward again and Zayn’s sure his heart has never beat so fast in his life. Not even that time he let Liam take him to the gym.

He swallows thickly and wills himself to maintain eye contact, knows Harry won’t let him get away with breaking it again.

“You could, you know,” Harry’s voice is lower than usual. Quiet, but clear, like he’s losing his nerve a little but still determined. It makes Zayn’s stomach twist to think of how brave Harry is, especially in comparison to what a coward he is himself. “I haven’t given my number to anyone Zayn. I haven’t wanted to because… because no one on the other side of the bar compared to the guy on this side of the bar with me.”

Zayn closes his eyes at that, his whole body feeling anguished by Harry’s words. They’re so honest and heartfelt and fuck it if they’re not everything Zayn’s ever dreamt about hearing Harry say.

“Zayn,” Harry’s voice is just a whisper now, his hand coming up to gently cradle Zayn’s face. His eyes are still closed, and when he opens them all he sees is Harry. He’s everywhere, all eager green eyes, full pink lips, and perfect square jaw. Zayn can smell him and he’s sure if he inhaled through his mouth he could even taste him, knows that if he tilted his head up enough he could actually taste him, feel his lips on his own.

Zayn swallows and tilts his head down, away from Harry. He reaches up to touch Harry’s hand on his face, grabbing it gently and pulling it away. It’s too much. Harry’s too much and Zayn… Zayn’s not enough. As much as he wants Harry he still just can’t let himself have him. There’s too much at risk, especially now that they’ve become so close, and he doesn’t trust himself not to shatter it like that stupid pint glass. He can practically hear Rihanna’s voice in his head as he takes in a shaky breath.

“You should,” Zayn clears his throat, his words sounding about as weak as he feels. “You should give that guy your number.”

Harry’s face falls into a confused frown, eyebrows knit together as the hurt becomes obvious on his face and in his eyes. Zayn can’t look at him, so he releases his hand and turns away. “I’ve got this,” he points to the rest of the dishes. “You can head out.”

“Zayn,” Harry says again, his voice sounding choked now in a way it hadn’t before.

“I’m sorry Harry,” Zayn shakes his head and turns to the break room. He feels like crying, and once he’s sure Harry’s gone, he will. He hates that he hurt his beautiful boy, hates that he hurt himself, but he still feels like it was his only choice. He still doesn’t believe Harry’s affections aren’t driven by biology, at least on some level, and would hate to think that he could ever take advantage of someone like Harry. Someone he loves as much as he loves Harry.

When he hears the entrance to the bar close, he drops down onto the floor of the office and cries. He draws his knees up against his chest and holds himself like that as sobs wrack through him, until he has no more sobs in him.

Zayn convinces Liam to take his next few shifts with Harry. It doesn’t make him feel a whole lot better, he’s not sure anything could, but it does mean he gets to avoid seeing Harry and hearing any more of Liam’s lectures about how silly he’s being.

He finds that even though he knows Louis feels the same way as Liam, he’s a lot less annoying and self-righteous about it. In fact, he doesn’t really mention it at all.

“You seem to have a personal vendetta against me spending time with my boyfriend so it looks like you’re stuck with me,” is really the closest Louis comes to mentioning it, when he barges into his apartment one night with a dime bag of weed and a box of pizza.

Zayn chuckles and leads him to the balcony where Louis begins packing a bowl.

“It’s been a while since my girl Lily here has been used,” Louis declares, holding up the white glass bowl.

“Liam not a fan?” Zayn jokes, earning a glare from Louis.

“As much trouble as I’ve managed to con him into, I’ve never quite gotten him this far. ‘S a shame really. Can you imagine Liam high?”

Zayn laughs at that and shakes his head. They sit in silence for a while, passing the bowl back and forth and enjoying the calm of the summer night. It’s not quite dark yet, but it will be in a few minutes. Zayn wonders if the bar’s getting busy. Wonders if Harry’s giving his number to anyone, going home with them to let them touch him in a way Zayn’s too stupid to.

“Do you ever wonder what it is that makes us… what we are?” he asks after taking a particularly long hit. He’s feeling more relaxed than he’s felt in months and it makes him feel closer to Louis than he ever has before.

“Jesus how high are you?” Louis laughs and Zayn joins him.

“I mean like, why do you think you’re an omega?”

“Because my arse gets slick when I get turned on?” Louis answers without preamble. He’s unfiltered and shameless in a way Liam is definitely not and Zayn laughs, not for the first time, at what a good pair they make.

“No but I mean like,” Zayn smirks, unsure of how to word this and knowing Louis won’t cut him any slack either way. “I mean like, did you always suspect you’d be an omega? Growing up?”

Louis sighs and leans back against the chair he’s in, propping is feet up on the balcony ledge. He seems to be resigning to this conversation, putting his arsenal of snarky replies away for the time being. “I don’t know, not always I guess. As I got older though it seemed to become more apparent. Like, I had all the physical fixings obviously, but I was also just like… I don’t know. In constant need of an anchor? If that makes sense. That’s how I always think of alphas, they’re like anchors.”

Zayn ponders that for a minute and wonders if that applies to himself.

“Look at you, for example,” Louis says, whether he knew Zayn would want this applied to himself or not. “You’re very much a solid, sturdy, dependable person. You’re a caretaker, always have been. Your sisters worship you and you mama bear the shit out of them. That’s a very alpha characteristic.”

“’M not like, big though. I’m not really dominant or-“

“But you are very much caught up in stereotypes, aren’t you?” Louis cuts him off with an incredulous look. “That shit’s offensive and you know it. Do you really see Liam as a giant lug who constantly needs to pin things down and hump them? Do you see me as a meek little fuck toy? Don’t be daft Zayn, Jesus.”

Zayn opens his mouth to speak, to apologize and clarify that that’s not at all what he meant but Louis doesn’t give him the time.

“I know that’s not what you meant by it, but that’s my point. You don’t beat your best friend up for being some kind of monster, so why do it to yourself? You don’t think of me as helpless and easily taken advantage of, so why do it to Harry?”

Zayn winces at the outright mention of Harry’s name. It’s been five days since he’d told him to give other guys his number and it hurts to think of how much he misses him, how much damage he might have done to their relationship.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Zayn reaches for the bowl and laughs when Louis jokingly smacks his hand.

“I’m always right,” Louis grins. It’s dark out now and Zayn thinks about how only moments ago he’d known it’d be dark soon, yet he somehow still missed the change. It’s cooler now too, and the warm feeling in his lungs when he takes another hit is welcomed.

“Do you think you can go back to work now?” Louis asks, seemingly out of nowhere. “As much as I’ve loved all of our bonding time lately, I really do miss my boyfriend.”

Zayn laughs and passes the bowl back to Louis. “Yeah, I think I can probably do that.”

He’s not exactly thrilled at the idea of seeing Harry after everything, but he is anxious to fix things. Regardless of his weird insecurities and how heartbreakingly in love he is with Harry, he knows Harry didn’t deserve any of what went down. He’s easily one of the greatest people Zayn’s ever met and he needs him to know that.

When Zayn does return to work, he’s greeted by the sight of Harry singing Ashlee Simpson’s Autobiography at the top of his lungs as he takes down the barstools.

“What year is it, 2004?” Zayn asks, making Harry jump.

“I had no idea you were here,” Harry lets out a deep breath. “You scared the shit out of me. And that’s a great song, no matter what year!” he grins.

Zayn smirks and nods, “You did give it a great performance just there.”

They both laugh for a moment before Harry looks down at his feet, suddenly shy as they both remember their last interaction.

“Listen, Harry, about the other night…”

“It’s fine, don’t mention it,” Harry cuts him off. “I was being presumptuous and probably inappropriate and I’m sorry. I tend to do that, and it’s not… It’s not okay. I just hope we can like, get back to how we were?”

Zayn gapes for a second, completely unprepared for what he’d just heard. In no universe did he expect Harry to take what happened as Zayn not being interested in him. Sure, that might have been what he implied but how anyone could ever actually believe that…

“Zayn?” Harry asks, his voice soft and hopeful, a lot like how it had been that night. Once again he’s made himself vulnerable to Zayn and this time Zayn’s not going to let him doubt himself.

“Of course Harry, Jesus,” he opens his arms and envelopes Harry without thinking, instantly feeling his entire body react.

Harry holds him right back, face nuzzling into Zayn’s neck as he strokes Harry’s hair.

“I’m sorry I was such a twat about everything,” Zayn tells him. “You’ve been so amazing to me and I love having you around so much.”

“Really?” Harry pulls back to look at Zayn’s face.

Zayn tries to control himself, to refrain from bursting into flames as a result of looking directly into the sun, which is what looking at Harry feels like. His eyes are bright green and hopeful, his skin tanned and glowing as it stretches around one of Harry’s wide smiles.

“Of course, you knob,” Zayn squeezes his hip playfully.

“I thought for sure I made everything horribly awkward,” Harry pinches his bottom lip with two fingers and Zayn wishes he wouldn’t draw more attention to his mouth.

“Pretty sure that was me,” Zayn snickers, proud of himself for putting on such a brave face even though he wants to crumple into a ball. He hadn’t planned for this at all. He had really planned on coming clean and telling Harry how he really felt, but somewhere it took a turn. Any desire Zayn had to pursue that original direction is brought to a screeching halt when Harry pulls back completely and resumes taking down the barstools.

“You’ll never guess what I did last night,” Harry grins.

“What’s that?” Zayn asks, moving to help put down the chairs.

“I gave handsome scruff guy my number. He’s picking me up after my shift tonight,” Harry’s beaming, his whole face lit up with delight. Zayn feels like everything inside him is dying, but he can do nothing but stare, force a smile, and congratulate Harry.

“That’s awesome,” Zayn nearly chokes. “I mean, he’s a lucky bloke.”

Harry just grins and continues rambling on about how it happened, how handsome scruffy guy came back two more times and was sweet and flirty and cute and finally asked Harry for his number. He tells Zayn about how he hasn’t been on a date with an alpha since high school and how nervous he is. He asks if his shirt, a sheer black button up with red floral print, is too much or not enough for a date.

“’S perfect,” Zayn thinks his voice is a whimper at this point. “You look perfect.”

“Thanks,” Harry beams. “We’ll see how perfect I look at the end of this shift.”

Zayn chuckles and takes a huge sigh of relief when the first customer walks through the door. It’s only been two minutes but he’s sure another second of that conversation would have killed him.

Harry helps the customer, one of his regulars/adoring fans, and begins chatting with them right away.

The rest of the shift is exhausting, watching Harry bounce around like the happy cherub he is. It’s Wednesday, so they aren’t particularly busy past the dinner rush, which is why Harry was only scheduled to work until nine in the first place. Stupid handsome scruffy guy walks in at about ten to and sits at the bar, smiling stupidly at Harry who is smiling stupidly right back. The whole thing is stupid.

“Zayn, this is Matt,” Harry introduces them.

Matt waves and Zayn nods, hands a bit too full with drinks and attitude a bit too full with resentment for him to do much else. He tries not to watch them for the remainder of Harry’s shift, but his eyes keep landing on them anyways. Matt’s eyes are trained on Harry all the time, even when Harry’s serving someone else, Matt’s tunnel vision is honed in on Harry. He looks all moony and endeared, much like Zayn imagines he looks when Harry’s in the room. It’s annoying, but also hard to be mad about. He understands completely why Matt is so entranced.

The minute nine o’clock hits, Zayn nudges Harry’s hip. “Get out of here,” He nods at Matt. He’s not particularly thrilled to see Harry leave with him, but he figures it will hurt less once they’re out of sight.

He’s wrong.

Zayn’s miserable from the moment they leave, visions of what might be happening dancing in his head on loop. He pictures Matt’s large hand on the small of Harry’s back, pictures Harry’s wide grin as Matt showers him in compliments and tells him to order whatever he wants, pictures Harry’s head thrown back, curls bouncing as he rides Matt’s cock, sheer shirt unbuttoned all the way as Matt traces the outlines of his bird tattoos with his tongue.

Fucking Matt.

When it’s time to close, Zayn falls even further into his dark, deep pit of despair. He misses his closing buddy, misses Harry’s stupid little dance routines and dish washing rituals. He misses the sound of his raspy voice singing along to popular music on the radio and the scent of him wafting around the bar as he moves around him.

It’s stupid for Zayn to dwell on. He’s the one who pushed Harry away, pushed him to see other people. He was scared to pursue something with him himself so he lost him. He deserved every bit of what he was going through. But it still sucked.

It continues to suck as the weeks wear on too. Harry continues seeing Matt and with every night he leaves the bar with him, Zayn’s visions of what goes on between them get more vivid. He dreams one night that Harry is pregnant with Matt’s baby and wakes up in a sweaty panic.

Zayn can’t fall back asleep after that, so instead he crawls into Liam’s bed and snuggles him. Louis has always limited their sleep overs, claiming that it is very much possible to get sick of someone even if you are bonded with them, and Zayn is very thankful for that this night. Liam is pliant, like he usually is, and instantly shifts so Zayn can use his chest as a pillow.

“Yaokay?” Liam mutters without opening his eyes.

“Yeah, just tell me Harry’s not pregnant with stupid handsome scruffy guy’s baby.”

“’s not pregnant,” Liam breathes. “You’re silly.” He kisses the top of Zayn’s head then and drifts back to sleep.

“This is absolutely darling,” Louis’ voice wakes them both up the next morning. “But it’s also cheat day, which means Liam makes me bacon, so you both need to wake up.”

“Mmmm, it is cheat day, isn’t it?” Liam asks, sitting up and stretching. He leans forward to kiss Louis chastely on the mouth before asking. “Want pancakes?”

“Yes please,” Louis nods, earning another sweet kiss before Liam saunters off to the kitchen.

“The fuck is cheat day?” Zayn asks, burying his face in the pillow to hide from all the sunlight.

“I don’t know,” Louis shrugs. “Similar to leg day or abs day I imagine. One of those days that exists only on Liam’s imaginary calendar we’ll never understand. All I know is I get bacon on cheat day so I’m very much a fan of this one. Kind of like Saturday for normal people.”

“Hmm,” Zayn nods.

“In other happy news,” Louis continues, “your boy is single again.”

“Hmm?” Zayn repeats, this time with much more enthusiasm as he sits upright in the bed.

“Yes, I got to hear all about it last night as Harry moped around. Something about how he was being stupid for even trying it when he knew the timing was wrong. How his heart wasn’t in the right place and he deserved for it to not work out. I honestly don’t know who is more self-deprecating between the two of you at this point.”

“Well this chat has been absolutely lovely,” Zayn says, throwing the covers off himself and climbing out of bed.

“Hey, you can’t tell me that news didn’t just make your day!” Louis chides him, following him out of the room.

“Okay, you’re right, but I’m not proud of that. I shouldn’t be reveling in someone else’s breakup.”

“And you seriously had the nerve to be offended about my self-deprecating comment? Jesus.” Louis rolls his eyes and plops himself on one of the barstools in the kitchen. “Ooh tea!” he exclaims, noticing the cup before him. “Thank you Liam!”

With that, the subject is changed and Zayn is thankful. He finds himself smiling to himself as he pours his own cup of tea and graciously eats the breakfast of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and sausage Liam has fried up.

He has a shift with Harry later that night and as little as he wants to see Harry upset, he can’t help but be excited at the prospect of Harry being single again.

Luckily, Harry’s spirits seem high when he arrives at the bar later that day. He’s wearing a white t-shirt, with fabric which is, shockingly enough, so thin it’s practically see-through. His hair is in a bun, which only ever draws more attention to his jaw and neck, and he’s wearing the pair of tight blue jeans Zayn doesn’t feel get enough use.

“Hiiiiii,” he drawls, voice raspy and familiar and all around lovely.

“Hi,” Zayn smiles. He feels weirdly rejuvenated and excited, like a teenager with a crush. “You look good, I love those jeans on you.”

Harry smiles brightly and unabashedly and it reminds Zayn of the way he’d look walking into that business class, two coffees in hand and the biggest smile Zayn had ever seen.

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if you hadn’t sat next to me in that business class?” Zayn asks. He knows it seems a little out of nowhere, but he feels very optimistic today and doesn’t want to waste the day filtering himself. Harry never does, and he loves that about him, wants to be a bit more like that himself.

“I think that there’s probably no world in which I wouldn’t have sat next to you in that class,” Harry answers, smirk tugging at his lips as he begins pulling barstools off the tables and setting them on the ground.

“Really?” Zayn asks, nose crinkling with his smile. “Why’s that?”

Harry chuckles and shakes his head. “Have you seen you? Those cheekbones. I had to be near you.”

Zayn blushes at that and Harry notices, rolling his eyes.

“Louis always complains about your warped self-esteem and I definitely see why,” Harry laughs. “It’s cute though, how easy it is to make you blush.”

“’S not,” Zayn protests and casts his glance downward.

“Look at those eyelashes,” Harry gasps exaggeratedly, making Zayn laugh. “And that smile, those teeth!”

“What is this? Little Red Riding Hood?” Zayn laughs.

“I don’t know,” Harry wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Are you trying to eat me, my dear?”

He busts out into hysterical laughter at that and Zayn has to toss a dish rag at him. He’s laughing too though, and he feels happiness radiating through his whole body.

The rest of the night is much of the same. They find their easy rhythm that hadn’t really been the same since handsome scruffy guy first came into the picture and Zayn is incredibly thankful. They flirt and tease and laugh all night and even the customers notice the difference.

“You finally make him yours yet?” One of the older customers asks Zayn. He’s one of the few who had been around before Harry, a rarity who seems to continue coming back for the beer, rather than the dimples and curls behind the bar. Zayn’s always liked him, but he likes him even more in this moment. He smiles at him and shrugs coyly, answering with a “we’ll see,” before setting down his fresh drink and moving on to the next customer.

When the bar is closed, Zayn and Harry continue their routine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. They listen to music and dance around the room happily, sweeping and washing dishes as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Even when they aren’t dancing and singing and laughing, they work in comfortable silence, Harry finishing washing things up while Zayn counts the till.

“So I’m guessing Louis told you about Matt?” Harry asks when he’s finished, propping himself up on the bar and letting his legs dangle beneath him.

“Considering all he ever has to talk about are you and I apparently, yeah he mentioned it,” Zayn smirks before turning to Harry and meeting his eyes. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, feet kicking out beneath him to their own rhythm. “We wanted different things.”

Zayn is curious about what those different things are for a moment, but he doesn’t ask. Did Harry want something serious and Matt didn’t? Did Harry want someone else?

Zayn is pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the door opening. “We’re closed,” he calls out without looking up at the person.

“Ya better be, otherwise this place is dead,” an unfamiliar voice responds. “Also that’d be right annoying since I’m here to pick up this lug.” He pokes Harry in his side playfully and Harry laughs excitedly.

“Niall!” Harry shouts, throwing his arms around the blonde Irish lad who’s just walked in.

Zayn doesn’t even have time to process what is happening before his body is reacting, jealousy creeping up on him and making his neck and ears heat up. Was this what Harry ‘wanted’ instead of Matt?

“Well that was fast,” Zayn mutters, unable to contain himself.

“Zayn this is Niall,” Harry explains cheerfully, clearly not having heard Zayn’s earlier grumbles.

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Zayn replies ruefully. “I’m gunna head to the back to finish some things up. Have a good night.”

“Zayn!” Harry is calling after him.

“It’s fine Harry, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Zayn feels exhausted. The unadulterated joy that had been radiating through him moments before is entirely drained and he just wants to be home. He wants to curl up in a ball and never think about Harry again. It’s not a possible feat, he knows, but it won’t go without trying.

“Zayn!” Harry says, louder this time. They’re in the back office now and Zayn is forced to face him.

“What, Harry?” he sighs tiredly.

“What is your deal?” Harry asks.

“Nothing, I just… I think it’s a bit soon don’t you? To be having another guy come pick you up from the bar? I mean, it’s not my business but weren’t you just moping about Matt yesterday?”

“You’re right,” Harry nods, hands on his hips. “It isn’t your business, you made that pretty clear about a month ago. Even still, Niall’s not ‘another guy picking me up from the bar.’ He’s my roommate and best friend of about, ten years.”

“You have roommate?” Zayn asks dumbly.

“Yeah, he’s been in Ireland for the past two months with his family, and he’s just got back.” Harry sighs, clearly feeling as exhausted as Zayn is.

“Oh,” Zayn mutters, unsure what to say. “Sorry, I-“

“Zayn I don’t want to fight with you, but you have to understand how exhausting you are for me,” he runs his fingers over his hair, smoothing stray strands back into place. “I wanted you to come out with us tonight, meet Niall, celebrate his being home, focus on my friends again. I don’t know if that’s a good idea anymore though. I think there’s some stuff you need to sort out. I’ve been honest and upfront about my feelings for you from the moment I met you, so now it’s your turn to be honest with yourself. “

“I don’t-“ Zayn shakes his head. He feels like he’s been hit by a truck. Everything was going so well today and then he had the floor yanked out from under him. Then that same metaphorical floor was put back in place by a truck, which also happened to hit Zayn. The metaphor is a bit messy, but either way Zayn doesn’t have a leg to stand on or words to find.

“I know, and it’s fine,” Harry gives him a small smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turns then and leaves the office, Zayn having no choice but to watch him go.

Zayn feels incredibly guilty and frustrated. His entire relationship with Harry has been a tangled mess of miscommunication and an utter failure to be honest on Zayn’s part. Harry had been open with him, had been straightforward and real and put himself out there, only for Zayn to shut him down in some warped attempt at protecting him. Harry didn’t need protecting though, and it was insulting for Zayn to think he did.

Even after all that though, Harry was still willing to be friends with Zayn. He was willing to let him into his life and spend time with his best friend. He didn’t have any expectations or ulterior motives, he was just good. He was just what Zayn needed.

“An alpha is whatever their omega needs them to be,” Liam had said once.

Zayn had been the complete opposite of that for Harry. Meanwhile, Harry had made every attempt to be that for Zayn. He brought Zayn coffee in class, took the brunt of the workload when Zayn fell behind, and even took the job at the bar in an attempt to help Zayn out. Harry was supportive in every conceivable way, and Zayn was just a knob.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself. Zayn pushes his fingers through his hair and begins pacing through the office. He wants to go to Harry and apologize, wants to just confess to how much he loves him and offer himself as some kind of slave at his mercy. He also doesn’t want to push him any more than he already has, or intrude on his time with Niall.

Zayn takes his pacing to the bar then, wiping down every surface and finishing up the remaining tasks. It’s dark out, as it usually is at two in the morning, and Zayn wonders where Niall and Harry might have gone.

Not a bar, being that they are a bar and they are closed. Maybe an all-night diner? Maybe a park?

Zayn scrolls through his phone and considers calling Harry.

Then he tosses his phone on the bar and considers going home and giving Harry space.

Then he paces some more and wonders what Liam would do.

Then he calls Liam and Liam tells him he and Louis think he’s silly.

Then Zayn groans and hangs up on them, vowing that he will never use the word silly as often as they do because it’s a silly word.

Finally Zayn leans against the bar and lets out a deep breath. He looks up at himself in the mirror and remembers the time Harry had kissed it during his rendition of Uptown Funk. It seems crazy that it was only about six months ago when Harry first walked into his life, all beaming grins and first day of class jitters. Harry hadn’t wasted any time with things like ‘space’ then, and Zayn wasn’t going to now either.

It’s nearly 4 am when Zayn reaches Harry’s apartment.

He’s carrying a 12 pack of Guinness and a 12 pack of Lime-A-Ritas and they’re heavy and it’s dumb that Harry lives on the fourth floor of a building with no elevator.

Zayn doesn’t fully expect them to be there, but figures even if they aren’t, he’ll just sort of wait until they are. He’s too keyed up to sleep or even think about going home and no one can stay out all night, can they?

Thankfully Zayn doesn’t have to worry about that, because as he reaches Harry’s door he hears his laugh, big and bright, and it makes him smile.

He sets down the twelve packs and runs his fingers through his hair before bringing his fist up to knock. He feels a rush of nervousness wash over him and almost thinks about bailing. Anchors don’t bail though, and Louis said alphas were like anchors. He could be an anchor.

He knocks on the door and within a minute it’s being opened. Harry is staring back at him, wide smile fading at the sight of Zayn.

Zayn never wants to be the reason Harry’s smile fades.

“Hi,” he says sheepishly. “I um, I brought a peace offering.” He holds up the cases of beer and bites his lip. “I’m really sorry and I want to make it right. I want to be a good friend to you. I don’t want to say things I don’t mean anymore or make decisions on your behalf. Starting right now. So I’m leaving it up to you: can I come in?”

Harry is quiet for a moment, lips pressed together thoughtfully before breaking into his signature grin. “’F course,” He steps aside so Zayn can make his way inside, hauling the two cases of beer with him.

“Hey!” Niall cheers excitedly. “I think I just won fifty quid!”

“Shut up,” Harry drawls, shoving Niall playfully.

“Harry here thought he wouldn’t see you again for at least a week, but I bet him you’d show up here yet tonight. Thanks for that!” he pats Zayn’s back and indicates for him to take a seat at the table.

“No problem,” Zayn smiles, meeting Harry’s eyes. He’s glad he decided to come tonight, can see how pleased Harry is, even if he is losing fifty quid as a result. “I brought beer. Forgive me for stereotyping,” he shrugs, holding up the case of Guinness.

“Totally forgiven,” Niall waves him off. “I’m a walking stereotype so it doesn’t bother me.”

Zayn grins and takes a seat next to Niall. He likes him already and can totally see how he and Harry would be great friends. Upon closer proximity Zayn realizes he’s a beta. He also learns rather quickly that he’s very touchy and very expressive, laughing loudly and animating his whole body with every story he tells or even listens to.

Niall, Harry, and Zayn stay up for two more hours, drinking and sharing stories. Zayn learns that the two of them started a band together in high school and Niall still pursues a career in music. He also learns that much to Harry’s horror, Niall had dated his sister for close to a year. Mostly he learns that their friendship is probably one of the most solid he’s ever witnessed. Niall knows Harry’s life as if it was his own, recalling specific dates and events like it was his job. Although he’s a loud and fast talker, Irish accent sometimes hard to follow when he really gets going, he’s patient and intent when listening to Harry’s slow rasp. Harry is a little less forgiving, often mimicking Niall in an Irish accent when it gets really thick.

By the time Niall turns in for the night, Zayn’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He has a pleasant buzz going and he can tell by the flush of Harry’s cheeks that he does too.

“You staying here?” Harry asks him, eye lids heavy as he stands up and stretches. His shirt rides up a bit, showcasing the laurel tattoos on his hips and Zayn fights the urge to reach out and touch them.

“You don’t mind?” Zayn asks.

“I’d prefer it,” Harry states. “We’ve been drinking and it’s nearly morning, don’t want you falling asleep at the wheel.”

“Okay,” Zayn grins. The way Harry stares at him then, eyes still sleepy but mouth tugging up in a grin, does not go unnoticed by Zayn, and it sends a thrill through him.

He follows Harry into his room and let’s himself take in his surroundings. The whole place smells intoxicatingly like Harry, but with a hint of vanilla. It’s tidy, with rows of neat bookshelves and completely closed drawers. Even his shoes are lined up neatly on the floor of his closet, vast collection of sheer shirts hanging above them. His walls are decorated with pieces of art Zayn has never seen before and something about that is so Harry it makes Zayn smile.  There are also various framed photos around the room featuring Harry, Niall, and people Zayn assumes to be Harry’s family. They’re lovely, and Zayn finds himself wishing he could meet them, wishing he could be one of the people in these frames.

“Want some joggers?” Harry’s voice is raspier than usual, which gets Zayn’s attention. He tries not to gasp when he turns to see Harry in nothing but a pair of sweats, bare torso completely exposed.

“Um, yeah, thanks,” Zayn swallows, trying not to stare but failing miserably.

Harry grins and scratches at his bare chest, and Zayn knows he’s been caught. He also suspects Harry might have done that on purpose, but he’s not mad either way.

When Harry turns and bends to retrieve a pair of joggers from a bottom drawer, Zayn doesn’t even bother trying to stop from watching him. His back muscles roll deliciously and his perfect little bum looks just as good in sweats as it does in those stupid skinny jeans. Zayn wants to bite it.

It doesn’t help that Harry’s scent is everywhere. It’s in the room, it’s in the clothes and sheets around them, and it’s permeating off his bare skin, making Zayn’s mouth water and vision cloud.

Harry hands Zayn the joggers and retreats into the bathroom, giving Zayn some privacy to change. He pulls off his own shirt and jeans and slides the sweats on, catching his reflection in the full length mirror on Harry’s door. He’s so small, feels even smaller after having seen Harry, and it strikes him for the thousandth time how strange it is that he’s an alpha and Harry’s an omega. Harry stands at least three inches taller than him and he’s broader, more muscular.

“Smells like you in here,” Harry’s voice makes Zayn jump, and when Harry appears behind him in the mirror, hand settling on the bare skin of his waist, Zayn audibly gasps. He feels Harry’s presence everywhere, sending shockwaves of desire through his body while he wills his eyes to meet Harry’s in the mirror. “’S good,” Harry whispers, nose nuzzling against his neck softly, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to.

Zayn tilts for him then, granting him better access which Harry takes as permission. His hands move slowly over Zayn’s skin, one hand trailing around to his stomach, thumb tracing over the line of hair beneath his belly button.

Zayn shivers when Harry’s lips graze his skin, not kissing really, just feeling. “Zayn,” he whispers, pressing his lips against the spot where his neck meets his shoulder then in a chaste kiss. He opens his mouth when Zayn makes a whimpering noise and lets himself taste, tongue darting out to be followed by Harry’s soft, wet lips.

“Harry,” Zayn breathes, eyes falling shut and head falling even further back. He feels paralyzed, unsure of what move to make and terrified that he’ll have no control, won’t be able to stop once he starts something.

“Zayn,” Harry repeats, hands gripping his hips as he breathes softly against his neck. His lips move delicately up his jaw and he nuzzles behind his ear before whispering a pleading, “kiss me.”

Zayn turns then without hesitation, hands reaching up to find Harry’s jaw and pulling him down into a hurried but sweet kiss. His lips are soft and warm, parting just enough so that Zayn can kiss them each individually, his heart soaring all the while. His hands move up to run through Harry’s hair as he kisses him deeper, elevating himself onto his tip toes and pressing into Harry’s mouth.

The taste of him is intoxicating, even more so than his smell, and Zayn lets an embarrassing whimper into his mouth. His hands run down Harry’s chest and he tries to calm things down, tries to clear the haze of desire he feels trapped in, but it’s too much.

Harry grips his hips and pulls them so that they’re touching, grinding against each other gently as their mouths continue to tangle. Their hands explore each other’s chests, backs, abs, necks, and hair, wanting to be everywhere at once.

“Fuck,” Zayn breathes when they finally break apart for air. He lowers himself from his tip toes and leans his forehead against Harry’s shoulder, hot breath tickling his skin while his fingers linger around his waist. “We have to talk about this,” he whispers.

Harry shakes his head above him in protest. “We have to sleep,” he corrects, kissing the top of Zayn’s head. “We can talk about it tomorrow.” He grabs Zayns hand then and tugs him towards the bed, walking backwards toward it before him.

“Should I crash on the couch?” Zayn asks, already feeling that familiar, lingering alpha guilt that has haunted him for years.

Harry laughs dryly, dimples appearing on his face and making Zayn’s heart somersault. “Not a chance,” he says.

“But-“

“But nothing,” Harry interrupts his protests. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you in that stupid business class and I know you’ve wanted me too. I can smell it, remember? I’m sick of my being an omega and you an alpha being such an issue for you. It’s not a problem, Zayn, it’s why we work.”

“I just don’t want that to be the only reason,” Zayn says sheepishly. His whole body feels drained and torn. He wants to snuggle in this bed with Harry, who’s currently sitting on the edge and looking up at him expectantly, but he doesn’t want to make any mistakes. He’s made enough when it comes to Harry.

“Is my omega-ness the only thing you like about me? Is it the only thing about me that attracts you?” Harry asks, voice dripping with incredulity.

“’F course not.”

“Then why can’t you trust that there’s more that I like about you too, more that I’m attracted to?” Harry squeezes Zayn’s hand in his then and tugs him down gently. “Just cuddle with me, yeah? We need sleep and we can talk about this tomorrow okay?”

Zayn nods, feeling defeated and too exhausted to do anything but give in to what he wants. He crawls into the bed and lies on his back with his arm raised so Harry can nestle beneath it, head resting on his chest. Harry’s fingers trace lazily over Zayn’s tattoos while Zayn’s rake softly through Harry’s curls. It’s a matter of minutes before they’re both fast asleep.

When Zayn wakes up, he has no idea how much time has passed. He has no idea, and he is utterly incapable of thinking about it, because all he can think about or sense in any way is Harry beside him. He’s whimpering quietly, sleeping face crinkled with distress, and his hips are thrusting subtly beneath the sheets. The room smells like him, but different, more intense. It smells like desire and temptation and sex and Zayn wants it. Zayn needs it.

He needs to be touching Harry, licking Harry, tasting, fucking.  

Without thinking, Zayn hovers over Harry, propping himself on his elbow and reaching across Harry’s body to gently squeeze his hip. At least, he means for it to be gentle, but it’s pretty rough when it’s all said and done.

“Haz,” he nearly growls, leaning down to graze his teeth against Harry’s neck. “Babe wake up, fuck Harry wake up!”

Harry’s eyes open in a series of blinks, each one revealing a different emotion. Mostly though, he just looks confused and desperate.

“Zayn?” He asks, reaching up for his chest and gripping at him, pulling him down on top of him. “Fuck, Zayn I-“

“You’re in heat,” Zayn breathes against his skin. He can’t believe how fucking good it smells, how fucking delicious it is. He breathes him in like some sort of animal, teeth and tongue grazing skin greedily, tasting him without abandon. “Gunna take care of you.”

It’s obvious Zayn is working purely on instinct. His feelings of doubt and guilt are nowhere to be found as he slips between Harry’s legs and grinds into him. He kisses his mouth hungrily, biting and sucking on his lips and tongue as his hard cock presses against Harry’s.

 “Zayn, please,” Harry thrusts up with more force and digs his fingers into Zayn’s back.

Zayn smirks against the skin of his jaw before sucking on the skin there, still not able to get enough of that taste. He slides his hands inside Harry’s pants though, finding that he somehow already removed his sweats, and grabs firmly onto his hard cock.

It’s big, much bigger than the average omega, and it’s also wet enough so that Zayn can slide his hand up and down the length of it with ease. Zayn kisses Harry’s mouth when he opens it on a moan, licking in and swallowing the sounds he makes. He twists his wrist as he strokes Harry, working his thumb over the head and biting Harry’s lower lip.

“’M close,” Harry manages in barely a whisper, eyes clenched shut as Zayn continues to stroke him.

“Go ahead babe, cum for me,” Zayn breathes in his ear, tracing his teeth over the lobe as Harry fucks into his fist.

Harry cums with a shout, covering his own chest and abs with cum that Zayn moves down to lick up. He continues down Harry’s chest and abs, paying special attention to his nipples and tattoos, as well as the traces of himself on his body.

“You are so fucking pretty,” Zayn tells him, hands moving reverently down his sides as his lips worship his skin. “God your body is just-“ he cuts himself off by nibbling on Harry’s left hip.

Harry’s dick is still hard, so hard it looks painful, and Zayn loves that. He feels incredible, every nerve in his body alive and on fire, ready to fuck Harry into the mattress. He wants to knot him, wants to fuck into him so deep and bust his knot right in him, pump him full of his seed. Then he wants to fall asleep with Harry wrapped in his arms and wake up to do it again.

Zayn wraps his lips around the head of Harry’s cock then, the taste of his arousal even stronger there so that Zayn moans. He lets his fingers trail down between his thighs, tracing the slick that’s leaked onto the skin there. He’s soaked, arsehole fluttering around Zayn’s finger when he brushes over it at the same time he takes his dick further down his throat. When he slips his finger inside, Harry shouts above him, fingers tangling in his hair and abs clenching deliciously beneath his perfect skin.

“Zayn,” Harry breathes, his voice an absolutely destroyed rasp.

Zayn fucks into him with his finger again before quickly adding a second. He knows how easily Harry will cum when he’s in heat, and he’s so excited to see how many times he can make him. He wants to fucking wreck this boy, exhaust him and claim him in every way he knows how. It’s probably out of character, but it also feels good. He can sense how much Harry is loving it too, the way his body is reacting, putting off a scent of arousal and need that could bring anyone to their knees.

When Zayn brushes Harry’s prostate with three fingers buried inside him and Harry’s cock down his throat, Harry shoots off inside him, forcing him to swallow his load. Zayn pulls his lips off with a pop but keeps his fingers buried inside Harry, who is panting and sweating dramatically above him.

“You look so good babe,” Zayn tells him, slowly moving his fingers in and out. He makes his way up Harry’s body, kissing and biting at his skin as he moves, fingers still inside him the whole time. “Think you’re ready for my cock?” he whispers once he reaches Harry’s ear.

Harry groans and nods, biting his lip and watching as Zayn raises up onto his knees and begins fisting his own cock. It’s massive, arching long and thick towards his belly button, and the sight of it makes Harry’s legs tremble. He feels himself producing more slick and Zayn must too because he smirks momentarily before removing his fingers and leaning down to kiss Harry.

Zayn hikes Harry’s thigh up over his hip and traces the head of his cock over Harry’s perineum and hole, teasing him until he whines, grabbing Zayn’s bicep and breathing, “please.”

That’s all it takes for Zayn to give up on teasing, and he begins pressing slowly inside him. Harry is slick and warm and so so tight that Zayn thinks he might cry. He smells incredible and feels even better, their bodies colliding and setting them both ablaze.

Zayn groans as he bottoms out, peppering kisses all over Harry’s face, neck, and chest as he gives him a moment to adjust. “You are so fucking incredible, feels amazing,” Zayn tells him before kissing him deeply.

Harry thrusts beneath him then and squeezes his hips to signify that he wants him to move, which makes Zayn chuckle against his lips and oblige. He moves slowly, but not necessarily gently. His thrusts are powerful and thorough, inching Harry up the mattress and making him call out with every thrust. Zayn pulls nearly all the way out, torturously slow before pounding back in, hitting Harry’s prostate and filling him completely.

Every square centimeter of Zayn’s body feels electric. Harry’s too, as they work into a rhythm. They can’t stop touching and tasting each other, even though they’re both becoming unable to concentrate on anything but their oncoming orgasms.

“Gunna fill you so full,” Zayn nearly growls in Harry’s ear. “Make you mine. You want that?”

“Fuck, yes,” Harry groans his response. “Want that. Need your knot Zayn, fuck.”

Zayn lets his teeth graze the skin where Harry’s neck meets his shoulder, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “God you taste so good,” he tells him, not for the first time. “Can’t believe this is real.”

“Zayn,” Harry’s nails dig into his back as his own back arches off the mattress. His untouched cock spurts messily onto both of their chests as he calls out in pleasure. He clenches tightly around Zayn, releasing a few more weak spurts when Zayn’s knot catches at his hole.

Zayn cums with a shout then, releasing into Harry as he thrusts without rhythm, Harry’s cum drying on both of their skin. He kisses Harry deeply as he continues to cum inside him, Harry’s scent calming from one of intense desire to one of calm contentedness. He smells tired and spent, but he also smells comfortable and happy, which makes Zayn absolutely elated.

As he comes down from his orgasm, Zayn repositions them so Harry lies on top of him, face nestled just beneath his chin. He’s so much bigger than Zayn, but like this he seems so small, seems like the perfect fit for Zayn.

Zayn rakes his fingers through Harry’s curls, mirroring his earlier movements and feeling a similar tiredness to what he felt earlier was over him. “Guess we have even more to talk about now, huh?” he asks, voice thick and spent.

“Or less,” Harry laughs tiredly, voice absolutely wrecked. “Think we worked most of it out just then.”

Zayn laughs and kisses the top of Harry’s head. He thinks of a response, but doesn’t know if he actually says it before they’re both fast asleep again.

This time when Zayn wakes up, he’s alone and it’s extremely bright in the room, but he’s still very disoriented. His cock is hard again and the room smells like an aroused Harry, but Harry is nowhere to be found.

Throwing back the covers and grabbing hold of his prick, Zayn pads toward the bathroom where he hears the shower running.

“Haz?” he knocks. He doesn’t get a response though so he just opens the door. Harry’s in the shower, face down as the spray washes over his back, hand working over his hard cock vigorously.

“Mind if I join you?” He asks with a smirk. He can feel himself growing even harder, body ready to meet the needs of his omega.

“Zayn,” Harry’s voice is weak and desperate. “Don’t have to,” he manages, water nearly drowning out his voice.

Zayn throws open the shower door then and steps inside, where he’s able to see Harry has two fingers buried inside himself while the other hand works over his cock.

“What do you mean, don’t have to?” Zayn asks, crowding behind Harry and letting his hands slide over his slick, strong back. He looks absolutely breathtaking, muscles rippling as the water washes over his smooth skin. His shoulders are so broad and the way they narrow into such a slim waist and hips has always made Zayn’s mouth water, especially with the way his pert bum bubbles out just slightly at the bottom.

He leans forward and presses his lips to the back of his neck, fingers moving to replace the ones Harry is struggling to fuck himself with.

“Shhhhh babe, I’ve got you,” he tells him softly, working him at a much slower, more even pace. He can see Harry’s shoulders relax, even as his back arches in pleasure. Zayn reaches his other hand around and begins stroking Harry’s cock alongside his own hand until eventually that falls away too. “Put your hands on the wall babe,” Zayn instructs, “brace yourself there.”

Harry does as instructed and cums within minutes, Zayn’s fingers massaging his prostate and milking his cock at the same time. It feels overwhelming at yet still somehow not enough.

“Hey,” Zayn taps his hip so Harry turns around to face him. It catches him off guard for a moment, how fucking pretty Harry is. His eyes are big and green, standing out starkly against the dark brown of his wet hair, which is made long and straight by the water. His eyelashes are clumped together and Zayn is in awe of the way the water falls off them, traces down his face to his full lips and he has to catch them, taste them. He does just that, leaning forward on his tip toes and catching a water droplet in his lips. In doing so he also catches Harry’s lips, which fall open automatically, arms wrapping around Zayn as he kisses him with fervor.

“Sorry, I-“ Harry gasps between kisses. His big hands feel like they could wrap all the way around Zayn’s waist with how tightly they are grabbing him. “I didn’t know. I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Babe,” Zayn interrupts him, pulling back to get a better look at him. He reaches up to push the wet hair off Harry’s face and has to kiss him once more, very soft and sweet this time, because he’s just so damn pretty.

“I don’t want you to think I was tricking you,” Harry admits sheepishly. “I don’t know what set my heat off early, but it wasn’t meant to happen until next week.”

Zayn responds by kissing him again. He honestly feels like he can’t help it, feels like his lips aren’t made to talk anymore, aren’t made to do anything but kiss Harry.

“I never thought that Haz,” Zayn tells him when he finally peels himself away from those pink lips long enough. “I know you wouldn’t trick me. Things just happen. ‘S part of our biology innit? Part of why we work, as you would say,” He smirks at that and Harry dimples bashfully in response.

“I know you want to talk about everything still,” Harry’s tone is serious again, deep voice so convincing and enthralling it almost feels like he could be the alpha sometimes. “I know I joked last night but… but I know we need to do that. I don’t think this all like, sorts it.”

“I never thought that either. And we will talk, yeah? But right now you just- well I’m not exactly in a right state to do that,” he laughs, glancing down slightly at his cock.

Harry giggles and Zayn is shocked he doesn’t melt right down through the drain at how cute he is.

Zayn fucks him in the shower then, Harry bent with his hands on the rail while Zayn takes him from behind. Once they’re finished, they collapse onto the shower bench, Harry sitting on Zayn’s lap with him still inside, unable to help but laugh at their failure to plan that out better.

They spend the next few days cooped up in Harry’s apartment. Niall left not long into the first day, claiming it smelled like sex and beams of affection, which of course just made Harry and Zayn giggle and make out some more.

Harry cooks and Zayn takes to bending him over the kitchen counter and fucking him with his apron on. On one occasion Harry serves Zayn breakfast in bed, then rides him twice while Zayn licks jam off Harry’s nipples. They also fuck in the bathroom when Harry is brushing his teeth and Zayn becomes distracted by his bum, pulling his sweats down and fucking into him in front of the mirror. Another time the full effect of Harry’s heat hits them when they’re watching a movie in the living room. Zayn lays Harry out on his stomach on the couch and eats him out until he cums three times, then fucks him slowly. Cleaning the couch after that time was fun, especially when it ended with Harry riding Zayn’s face on the living room floor.

On the fifth day things start to calm down. Harry no longer needs to cum every hour or so and both of their scents have faded from raging sex addicts to content cuddlers.  

“You smell so good right now,” Harry tells Zayn, nuzzling into his neck. They’re in bed, Harry having just made the bed with fresh sheets while Zayn prepared them tea. Although they’ve only been in the bed for about three minutes, they’ve managed to become completely tangled in blankets and each other, tea cups abandoned on the night table as they trace teasing patters over each other’s exposed tattoos with their fingertips. “Smell sweet.”

“You smell good too,” Zayn smiles against his hair. “’S my favorite smell.” His fingers trail down to Harry’s wrist and pull it up to his mouth. He presses a gentle kiss against the anchor inked into the skin there and traces over it with his thumb.

“I like nautical things,” Harry explains after a few too many moments of Zayn staring at the tattoo.

Zayn smirks in response and kisses it again. “I like you.”

Harry tries to roll his eyes but he just looks giddy and endeared instead, which of course makes Zayn feel giddy and endeared in return.

“I want to be this for you,” he taps lightly on the anchor and earns a confused look from Harry. “An anchor.”

“You’re not going to tie yourself to my feet and drown me are you?” Harry asks.

“Not today, no,” Zayn teases. “It’s something Louis said to me, back when I first um, when you…”

“When I came on to you and you turned me down?” Harry clarifies.

Zayn blushes a little, eyelashes casting shadows on his beautiful face as he looks downward. “I was scared. I didn’t believe you liked me for the right reasons. Didn’t really believe anyone could like me for the right reasons really.”

“That’s silly.” Harry really does roll his eyes this time.

“I wish everyone would stop using that word,” Zayn mutters, then laughs when Harry pinches his hip playfully. “But really, I couldn’t like, figure out what it meant – being an alpha. ‘Specially to someone like you. You’ve always been bold and brave and strong and I never have… It just didn’t make sense.”

“But you are those things,” Harry tells him, turning his head slightly so he can meet his eyes.

“Not like you are,” Zayn shrugs. “It doesn’t matter though, is what I learned. I don’t have to fit into some weird box of what it means to be an alpha. All being an alpha really means is being what you need. ‘S what Liam says. Louis says it’s like being an anchor. I wanna be that for you.”

Harry looks thoughtful for a moment before nodding. “I like that. I think you are that.”

“Haven’t done a good job yet, been more like a seagull that panics and flies away whenever something scares me.”

“Maybe I’ll get a seagull tattoo next,” Harry says in mocking wistfulness.

It’s Zayn’s turn to pinch his hip then, earning a yelp from Harry. They dissolve into giggles and tickles, happy to understand that they both want the same things, and that they’re both done running scared.

A week later, Zayn is opening the bar alone. Uni is starting back up in about a week, so things have been getting pretty hectic.

Liam, Louis, and Niall had all been relieved beyond belief that Zayn and Harry finally worked out their issues. As annoying as it was for Harry and Zayn, the relentless teasing they took ended up being a great bonding experience for the other three, cementing Niall into their little group. The five of them are taking off to the Bahamas in about three days as per their promised tips agreement they made at the beginning of the summer. Niall is just lucky they all love him so much and agreed he could free load. They’ve also agreed to let Niall play at the bar on Thursday nights in exchange for a few pints, so his equipment is set up in the corner when Harry walks in.

Zayn had turned on the radio when he got there, but he turned it down, not really in the mood for Sam Smith’s sad crooning when he could not relate for once in his life. When Harry walks in though, it becomes obvious that Sam Smith was finished, because when Harry cranks the radio, Bruno Mars’ voice blasts through the speakers.

“Oh god,” Zayn laughs, throwing his head back as Harry begins dancing towards him, mouthing the words dramatically.

“Too hot!” Harry sings, reaching out and touching Zayn only to pull his hand back as if he’d been burned. “Hot damn!”

He continues dancing around Zayn, grabbing his arms and trying to get him to participate until he finally breaks at the “STOP! Wait a minute!” pulling a glass from the shelf and holding it out to Harry. He waves his fingers around the glass to gesture that he wants it filled while mouthing along to “fill my cup put some liquor in it.”

Harry absolutely beams at him, picking up a fifth of whiskey and pouring it into the glass so Zayn can shoot it back. He’s still beaming, giggling like a fool while Zayn pulls a face and wipes his lips. Before he can continue the song and dance though, Zayn pulls him by his shirt and kisses him, sufficiently shutting him up.

“This song just works for me, doesn’t it?” Harry jokes, pulling back from the kiss. He shimmies his shoulders along with the music mouthing the lyrics and fanning himself dramatically while Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Yes, Haz, this song is what does it for me.”

Harry pouts then, sticking out his bottom lip theatrically so Zayn can’t resist but to bite it. “I love you,” he tells him, feeling the words with every fiber of his being.

Harry’s face breaks into his signature dimply grin. It’s the same grin he flashed Zayn that first day of business class, the same grin he gave him when he first showed up to the bar, and the same grin Zayn hopes to see every day for the rest of his life.

Harry leans forward and kisses him, that grin still intact against his lips and forcing Zayn into his own.

“I love you too,” Harry whispers. He pulls back then and shimmies away from Zayn, dancing his way to each bar stool he takes down.

When Louis shows up five minutes later, Harry has insisted on playing Uptown Funk again and is still dancing.

“It was not my decision to hire him,” Zayn points at Harry when Louis gives him a concerned look.

“Suuuuuuuure,” Louis nods disbelievingly.

“What?!” Zayn protests.

It was not Zayn’s decision to hire Harry.