Archive of Our Own

It’s late, and Harry’s eyesight is going bleary the longer he stares at the notes in front of him as he types up something he thinks is cohesive onto the computer in front of him. 

A coworker Harry rarely sees pauses at the corner of Harry’s desk and pulls his attention away from his screen. He has a cup of coffee in his hand from the break room and passes it off to Harry in lieu of a greeting. 

“Leonard wants you in his office,” he says to Harry. 

“Did he say what for?” 

“Nah. Just asked me to fetch you.” 

“Did he ask me to bark, too?” 

Dawson laughs with a friendly smile. Harry almost feels bad for him, just because there are parts of him that seem sweet. Genuine. 

“Any chance you’re willing to use that dinner raincheck yet?” Dawson asks.

Harry sighs, eyes raking over the alpha. He’s turned him down more times than he cares to think of. At least twice a month, just before the end of the day as the clock crawls towards five, Dawson approaches with a cup of coffee and a proposition for dinner, almost like clockwork.  “Maybe another time.”

He never seems let down at the rejection, instead just smiling as if he’s looking forward to something Harry knows will never come. He thinks he should feel worse than he does. But all he can do is walk away and wind through the halls to the editor’s office. 

He knocks twice on the cracked open door. 

“Come in!” 

Leonard is a round, balding alpha that reeks of cigars and whiskey. In the years Harry’s worked for him he hasn’t been able to pull apart the scent of whiskey and smoke from whatever his natural scent might be. Instead, he’s just learned not to wrinkle his nose. 

He walks three steps into the office, standing a few feet opposite of the desk and closer to the door than is likely socially acceptable. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“I have a new assignment for you.”

Harry blinks, thinking back to the six unfinished articles still sitting on his desk. He’s had a heavy workload since he started in the office, something that started as an attempt to prove himself worth working in an office full of alphas that turned into his normal. He coaxes the surprise off of his face and covers it with a drink of his coffee. 

“I want you to do a story on Louis Tomlinson and The Risen.” 

Harry chokes on the coffee as he swallows, hand over his mouth. He’s still coughing, and doesn’t have it in him to speak, and shakes his head.He swallows and takes a shallow breath. 

“Sounds a bit out of my league, doesn’t it?” The majority of his case load to date has been on local robberies, a few scandals, and a listeria outbreak that bankrupt two of the major lettuce farms on the west coast. 

“You’d be perfect for it, Styles. Think it over.”

“I just-”

“It could be a big story. If you don’t want it I’ll give it to someone else. But a big story could make that promotion I know you’ve been after.” 

Fuck. 

“Right. Of course. I’ll get on it.”

That seems to satisfy the alpha across from him as he swivels his chair to return to his keyboard. He types a few words with two fingers, hunt-and-peck and agonizingly slow. “That’s all.” 

Alright. 

Harry turns on his heel and walks out of the office with a pleasantry under his breath. 

The next morning Harry sits in front of the single office computer and starts researching Louis Tomlinson and The Risen in earnest. It’s all the same stuff he’s heard for years, all the same, solid material and the same, unchanging descriptions.

An odd, but not at all suspicious group. 

A naturalistic group that seeks to return to their roots through meditation and natural connection. 

None of them use the word cult. It feels intentionally misleading to remove the descriptor, considering the societal view on the group. He chews on the end of his pen as he combs through at least half a dozen articles, finishing with nothing more than what he started with. 

He knows there’s a story there, somewhere. He’s heard of writers going in and coming out with nothing but praises to sing and he’s heard of news crews trying their best to get a peek inside only to be sent away with nothing worthwhile. 

It’s a happy story as it’s currently written. Folks run off to find themselves in the slopes of the rockies. Escaping away from any ties to civilization to live a more natural life. A life they say traces back to pack days. A more primal and natural life. 

On the surface, it doesn’t sound so sinister. Really, it doesn’t sound bad at all. 

But, with every great too-good-to-be-true, Harry’s learned that there’s always something more.

--- 

At the beginning of his career, Harry promised himself he wouldn’t take work home after hours. 

That lasted all of about two months and hasn’t stopped in the five years he’s been in the workforce. 

Liam sits across from him, nose buried deep in a book for some law school exam he’s been killing himself over for almost a month. Harry combs through case files he brought home from the office, digs through magazine and newspaper articles and obituaries. All of it starts to blend together before long, names blurring together and dates tangling into a mess of a story he can’t seem to put together. 

He wants there to be a story. Leonard had said it himself - his career rides on their being something here. 

Except, the deeper he looks, it seems that there really isn’t. 

“If looks could kill, dude. You okay?” 

Harry sighs, but nods. “All this just feels too correct. Too put together for it to be true.” Liam looks skeptical. “There’s this guy - an alpha - Michael Santoro. He disappeared about eighteen months ago. Feds did an investigation but didn’t find anything conclusive.” 

That catches his attention, it seems. “And you think it’s tied to the cult?” 

“Normally I wouldn’t. But - it’s south of Ridgeway. Some tiny ass place way past the ski towns. Something like eight hundred people live in the nearest town and maybe two or three thousand within an hour. And somehow this little region has a missing persons rate almost three times the national average.” 

“No one else has caught that before?”

He makes a point. Harry likes to think he’s good at his job, but a part of him doesn’t think he’s good enough to be the first to draw such a bold conclusion. 

“At least not in writing, no.” 

“Sounds like you might have to get some feet on the ground in Ridgeway, then.” 

-- 

The drive to Ridgeway is miserable. 

Highway 70  is wet and narrow at best and crowded on top of it at worst. It’s six hours outside of Denver and the entire road is full of switchback filled roads and going fifteen under the speed limit to avoid driving over a cliff to his ultimate demise. 

He can imagine the headlines: “LOCAL JOURNALIST DEAD AFTER WORKING TO INVESTIGATE ALLEGED CULT”. 

Or maybe they still wouldn’t call it a cult. Harry likes to think they would if it was his dying mission. 

The radio cuts out when he drives through a tunnel and doesn’t come back for the last hour of the drive. He listens to the white noise for a while, trying to keep himself from over thinking the situation he’s getting himself into, but it doesn’t last long. He jabs the off button on the radio with a pointed finger, sighing heavily. 

He pulls into his parking spot at half eight and the sky is alight with reds and oranges that paint the clouds atop the mountains. They look almost unreal up close, jutting out of the hills and forming sharp peaks. He tugs his jacket tighter around his shoulders and grabs his things from the backseat of his car. 

His destination had been easy enough to find. There’s one hotel in all of Ridgeway and three times as many bars, but not much else. The glowing yellow Hotel sign cuts through the daze that dusk brings, illuminating the street and parking lot around him. The light for the O in Hotel is burnt out, but Harry pays it no mind. 

He hauls his suitcase inside and stands at the counter, bouncing back on his stiff legs and looking around to see if anyone is nearby. The smell of smoke hangs thick in the air and he does his best to breathe in through his mouth and out through his nose. 

After what feels like an eternity, he rings the discolored bell that sits on the desk. 

It takes another minute before there’s a clunk of heavy boots against the discolored wooden floors. 

“Evening,” The man says. 

“Evening. I have a reservation for Harry Styles.” 

“Ah, yes. Our VIP guest of the night,” He laughs. “Or, well, of the season I suppose. Don’t get much traffic ‘round these parts.” He talks as he digs through a notebook full of reservations that must span back more than a decade. Harry’s limbs ache from sitting in the car for so long and the impatience sits just beneath his skin as he watches. “Ah, there you are. What brings you to town?” 

“Sight-seeing. Little solo adventure through the mountains.” 

The lie comes easy. He doesn’t want any of the townsfolk to act differently around him than they normally would. Doesn’t want to ruin anything he can find before he even starts digging. 

“Huh.” The man fixes him with a stare Harry can’t quite pinpoint. “Well, Mr. Styles, you’ve got room number one. You’re our only reservation for this week, so I might be scarce. You can dial one on the room phone if you need anything.” 

“Sounds great, thanks.” He takes the key from where it’s sitting on the counter. “Oh, any recommendations for something to eat?” 

“Pam’s is round the block. Has the best pancakes and burgers in town.”

“Is it the only one in town?” 

The man laughs a full, belly laugh. “You’re catching on, kid.” 

Harry half unpacks once he gets to his room. Most of his clothes stay in the suitcase, but anything he doesn’t want to wrinkle or knows he needs to wear in the coming days gets hung in the closet. 

He sighs and cups his hands under the room sink and drinks a bit of water, then splashes it over his face before he makes his way to Pam’s. 

There are half a dozen folks sitting at the bar and a few more at booths scattered around the restaurant. Most of the people at the bar are older alpha and beta men, but Harry doesn’t hesitate as he takes an empty seat at the bar, spaced one away from an older man that’s sitting alone. 

He orders a burger and a Pepsi when the waitress approaches. Once he gets his food, he doesn’t waste any time in turning to the man beside him. 

“Any chance you know much about a group that lives near here?” he asks.

The man pauses, eyes narrowing just slightly like he’s sussing Harry out. “Think everyone around here knows at least a little something. Why?” 

Harry shrugs it off, trying not to appear too questioning. He’s scared folks off in the past with asking too many questions and he doesn’t want a repeat of it. 

“Just heard a little about it and was curious.” 

The man catches him outside after he pays for his meal. “Son,” He lights his cigarette. “You trying to join that group out there?” 

“Oh no, nothing like that. I’m just curious about them. Want to see what they’re about, I guess.” 

He hums some kind of affirmation and seems satisfied with that. 

“‘Fraid the road doesn’t go past here,” The old man says, bringing his almost burnt-out cigarette to his lips as he leans back against the wall. “Not many of us go out that way.”

“Is it unsafe?” 

There’s an uncanny silence between them, but the man shrugs after too long. “Call it an old town superstition.”

“Right.” Harry clears his throat. “Thanks.” 

“Might get one of the high school boys to take you closer in a truck, for a few bucks. They usually hang out over at the end of the utility road, down by the football field.” Another pause stretches between them. “Don’t know how much good an omega out there on your own might be. You be careful.” 

Harry nods and calls out his thanks as the man tosses the butt of his smoke onto the ground, stomping it out with his foot, and walks away. 

It’s cold as Harry walks across town to find the football field. It’s dimly lit from a lack of use and the highschool sits just on the other side of it. It looks to be the biggest building in town, sitting two stories high with large windows all across the front. 

Streetlights flicker as he walks and the wind picks up just slightly, making him pull his jacket tighter around his shoulders. 

It’s not long until he finds the utility road and walks down to the far end, dodging potholes and wide cracks in the pavement until he gets to a dead end. 

At the end of the road there are six boys in letterman jackets playing R&B from a boombox and sitting in the hutch of a forest green truck. Beer bottles litter the ground around them. The music goes quiet as he approaches, hands tucked in his pockets as a shield from the cold. 

“Any chance that any of you are sober enough to give me a ride in the morning? Twenty bucks if you can.” 

The teenagers are clearly displeased to be up so early during what Harry assumes is their summer break, but the fifty dollars they talked him up to seem to ease any of their frustrations. 

The first ten minutes of the drive are silent as they drive over bumpy dirt roads at what feels like a crawling pace. He knows it’s a little more than twenty miles out from town, but it feels so much farther with the unevenness in the road. The oldest boy who’s name he doesn’t remember said the drive would take just shy of forty minutes, maybe more if the roads were wet. 

Harry lets himself get lost in thought as he stares out of the window, legs cramped tightly in front of him from the closeness of the drivers seat. The silence is only broken when the oldest of the two teenagers speaks. “They say no one comes out the same, you know.” 

“How so?” 

A shrug is his response. “Who knows. We drive people down a couple times a year, but we drive a whole lot less people back to town.” Harry can’t hash out if they’re trying to scare him or if they’re being genuine. “Anyway, this is as far as we go. It’s about another three miles west. Just walk towards the mountains and you’ll find it.” 

“Thanks again,” He says as he climbs out of the backseat, ducking to not hit his head. 

The truck turns around and speeds off leaving a trail of dust in its wake and Harry heads west. 

Pine trees and yellowing aspen trees cover most orf the ground as he walks, following a worn foot trail that he doesn’t think he would have noticed had he not been looking for it. It’s covered mostly in the fallen autumn leaves, but it’s just slightly lower than the ground around it. He kicks back the leaves every once in a while to make sure he’s still on trail and powers on. 

Most of the walk takes him uphill and his calves are burning by the time he gets to the top. His backpack feels heavier on his shoulders the higher in altitude he gets, heart beating fast and cheeks hot with exertion.  

His walk comes to an end when he reaches the top of the hill and looks down on the tucked-away little civilization. Nestled at the bottom of a valley with hills on either side and a backdrop of the Rockies just behind it, is The Risen. 

It’s bigger than he thought it would be - with at least a few dozen little buildings and a handful of larger ones spread around pathways and manicured gardens and winding footpaths. At the far edge of the community, easy to see from the height of the hill, is a small narrow lake that seems to snake around a hill and wind back around the base of the mountain. The previously barely distinguishable path turns into one lined with smoothed river stones as he walks, a clear distinction between the outside and the inside of the community.

He makes his way down the hill, taking mental notes to write about later. Clotheslines hang between buildings and people walk in groups without paying him any mind. There are children running around and what sounds like a church bell chimes in the distance. 

He reaches the bottom and stops for a moment to catch his breath. A moment later, “Excuse me,” He stops an omega woman wearing a clean, navy blue dress.

“How can I help you?”

 “Do you know where a Louis Tomlinson might be? I was hoping to ask him some questions.”

Her eyes scan over him in slow glances, taking him in. “Oh, of course. Community is just about to let out so he should be around. Head towards the yellow building just there,” She points to a structure that looks to be about half a mile away.

“Thank you,” He says with a friendly smile as he turns towards the building. He remembers reading somewhere that he should be as nice as possible to members of cults to try and remind them that everyone on the outside isn’t evil, even if that’s what they’ve been told. 

He wonders if that’s what Louis has told them. 

The building looks to be a converted barn, painted yellow instead of a traditional red, but the paint is sun worn and faded to something more of an off-white. The doors are wide open, revealing rows and rows of tables that people file in and slowly fill. He tries to count them as they come and gets to fifty-three before he’s startled out of his focus. 

Harry glances around the new part of the community, taking everything in as much as he can. There are raised boxes filled with crops, overflowing vines and leaves stretching back for what looks like acres. 

“I heard someone was looking for me,” A voice says as he approaches. Harry turns too quickly from the shock, trying to smooth his features and bring himself back to a cool calm. 

Louis Tomlinson is everything that the articles say he is, plus something more that Harry can’t quite put his finger on. 

He’s twenty-nine with a face that Harry wouldn’t clock as older than twenty-three, yet he has a presence that commands the room. His stance radiates alpha , sure and confident as he stands near the doors of what looks to be a mess haul, greeting families and single folks alike with a smile as they pass through the doors and inside. 

“Yes, hello,” Harry reaches his hand out and Louis shakes it firmly. “I’m Harry Styles.” 

“Louis Tomlinson.” A few more people walk past them and inside, but he feels Louis’ full attention on him. “Care to join us for lunch? Our chef has made some fantastic chicken and rice soup with our harvest from this last week. Or some honey sweet potatoes if you’re not a meat eater.” 

As if on cue, Harry's stomach groans with hunger. He justifies it by considering it a part of his observations, seeing the people in their most natural state. “That would be great, thanks.” Louis guides both of them inside, stopping at a table near the far back wall where they can see everyone. 

Nothing immediately draws Harry’s attention about the people of the group. They’re all nicely but mostly casually dressed. There are far more people than Harry originally thought, with several children spread between families across the tables. A quiet murmur of a mix of conversations fills the room around them. 

Harry's immediate thoughts are that they seem put together, even if maybe a little peculiar. 

“I hope you don’t mind if I shift the subject to the purpose of me being here,” Harry says. “Do you mind if I record?” Louis shakes his head and Harry pulls the tape recorder from his bag, pressing record and setting it between them. 

“Of course not. We’ve had a few reporters come around these parts. It’s been a while, though.” 

“I’ve read a bit of what they had to say. Has much changed?” 

Just then, a young girl approaches the two of them. “Mr. Louis, mommy wants to know what you and your guest would like.” 

“Ah, I’ll do the soup, please, darling. And…” 

“Same for me, thanks,” Harry tells the girl. 

“Thank you Annabelle.” The girl scurries off without another word and Louis turns his entire attention right back to Harry. Before long, an older woman brings a tray with their bowls balanced on top of it, Annabelle in tow behind her. 

Louis must notice the look on Harry’s face as he watches them go after the food is served. 

“They’re not used to guests,” Louis says. “We mostly keep to ourselves around here.”

Harry nods. That’s what most of the reports he’d read said, that the group was doing nothing malicious but simply living a taboo life. Nothing more than a commune and nothing close to a cult. 

“Right. So you’re the leader of all this?” Harry pauses, “This cult stuff, I mean.” 

“Not keen for titles, really.” Louis shrugs and digs into his soup. He doesn’t seem particularly offended or off-put by the use of cult. 

“So, do all journalists come in Robert-Redford-shaped packages these days?” Louis taunts, a half-smirk on his face as he shoves his hands into his pockets. The mountain breeze goes frigid as the sun sets below the too-high peaks of the Rockies. 

“You saying there’s a big story for me to uncover? All the President’s Men is quite the comparison.” 

Louis laughs, but it’s not forced. The smile on his face feels authentic, even if well manicured. Harry is used to talking to people who are press-trained, well rehearsed in exactly what to say when there’s a notepad or a tape recorder anywhere near them. But Louis doesn’t strike him as the type to rehearse much of anything. 

“Afraid we don’t have much to hide around here.”

“Much? Or nothing at all?” Harry is pushing. He knows he’s being forward, likely bordering on rudeness, but he can’t help it. 

“Why don’t you stay with us for a while?” Louis asks. “You can ask us all the questions you want, see things for yourself.” 

“Are you trying to recruit me?” 

“Not at all. Would a cult leader as you seem to consider me encourage you to ask questions?” 

Harry supposes that’s fair enough. 

Harry sits in front of his notepad as the night draws to a close. It’s quiet outside and he feels like he might be the only one awake. 

The Risen is Louis Tomlinson’s crowning achievement. 

Born the oldest son into a Catholic family, he divorced the ideology at fifteen and joined a group of naturalists deep in the woods. It wasn’t his original creation, only inherited from another alpha whose name was lost to history, but he created what it is today. 

He scribbles his thoughts into his notebook as he listens back to the tapes of their conversations from the day. 

Harry had read enough from the other reporters that had tried and failed to uncover anything worthwhile from the three hundred acre settlement other than stories of the cliche religious tropes that weren’t worth a story. All the usual themes of meditation, enlightenment, reincarnation, holy and naturalistic living. 

Much of it was what Harry already researched back home in his Denver apartment. It both alarmed and soothed him, somehow. There were two ends to this path and neither of them were exactly what Harry wanted. Down path one Harry would find that there is truly nothing malicious going on, only to return home empty handed and stalemate his career. The other path meant people were kept a sort of psychological prisoner here, trapped not with bars and chains but instead with fear and ideology. 

Neither sounded ideal, really. 

He goes to bed with his thoughts still racing. 

Days pass too fast for Harry’s liking. 

He and Louis spent more time together than he did with anyone else in the group. The days crept along and Harry gathered little information to make a good story, but he knew more about Louis than he thought he knew about anyone else. 

They have a lot in common, it turns out. 

Louis likes to bird-watch and keeps feeders and seeds all around the grounds. He leaves out fruit scraps for the squirrels and cat food for the racoons. He collects magnets from national parks all around the country, even if he’s never been, and he’s a fan of casual rock. 

Louis kept to his word and answered all of the questions Harry had for him. Some of them were answers Harry had already read from other reporters, regurgitating information that Harry isn’t sure if was the truth or just a rehearsed answer. Others were new bits of information and he wrote scribbles of notes or recordings as they talked. 

As they walk around one afternoon, a pair of twins that Harry guesses can’t be much older than five run in front of them, laughing and poking each other as they go. They stop when they see Louis, smiling and waving in unison. “Hi Mr. Louis.”

“Marcus, Adrian, hello,” Louis responds, squatting down to their height. “This is Harry.” The twins give another greeting in semi unison, but they look more shy this time. Harry can imagine they don’t encounter many strangers. “Off you go then, kids. Something tells me you haven’t finished your readings for the day.” 

Their eyes go wide just before they scamper off, going right back to laughing and prodding at each other once they’re less than a hundred feet away. 

“There are a lot of kids here.” 

Louis nods. “Yes, we have a great community of families here.” 

“Are most of them born here, or brought here by their parents?”

“There’s a story of how the vikings came to be so beautiful,” Louis says softly, a smile on his face. “On each adventure, they’d bring home only the most beautiful omegas to mate with. Allowing them the blessing of joining their group and carrying their children.” 

They walk a while in silence. The wind carries Louis’ scent closer to Harry and he finds himself distracted by it for a moment. It’s sweet and earthy, pine and the smell just before rain. He could let himself get lost in it, if he wanted to. But it’s not the time and certainly not the place. 

“And that’s relevant because…” 

“Well, when an outsider comes in,” Louis' eyes drag over him in a swift glance, but Harry feels the way it makes his heart squeeze tightly in his chest. “It’s rarely with the goal of leaving. So, we vet our members. Gauge their interest and desire in joining. And those who fit the…. Criteria, I suppose, are those that become our family.” 

“Is that some twisted way of complimenting me and trying to recruit me at the same time?” 

“I’m not trying to recruit you at all,” Louis speaks with his hands as he has a thousand times before. The silver of his rings glints in the sunlight. “I understand you don’t wish for me to continue asking. I won’t bring up you joining again unless you ask me.”

“I appreciate that.” 

Later that evening, Harry replays a series of his conversations with Louis in his head as he sits in the bath. Some of the products in the bathroom have been moved to the side, and the group of toothbrushes sitting beside his hints to why that might be. 

Louis was kind enough to let him stay in the dormitory, an old war barrack from the 1800s that they’d renovated and turned into the home for almost half of the residents. He hasn’t seen anyone with kids as he’s walked through the halls, so he can only assume it’s been left for members who are single. The room he’s been given is small and fitted with what looks like antique oak furniture. 

He drifts for a while, loose and relaxed as the warmth of the water surrounds him. It’s easy to get lost in the feeling, to let himself feel like there’s nothing more going on here. Maybe he’ll just be the next in a string of writers to leave empty-handed, with nothing more than a few positive praises to print on a fifth-page column. 

He pulls the drain plug with a heavy sigh, standing up from the water and stretching out the knots in his limbs. He wraps one towel around his head to dry his hair and another around his body. His muscles feel tight like he’s been working out, and yet he’s done little more than walk the grounds as he talks to the people that live here. 

Primarily Louis, really. 

He sighs, sitting on his bed and pulling his backpack closer to him. He reads through some notes onto his notepad, full of mostly the ramblings of the townsfolk, and little that he’s gathered from the people in the group themself. 

No one comes out the same. 

Old town superstition. 

Louis is gorgeous. 

The last note is crossed out twice. He draws another line through it and flips to the next page. 

Harry’s three days he’d set aside to report on Louis turns into a week, then a month, and two months before he notices, really. It’s easy to get lost in the quiet life. The days are easy and he finds himself enjoying the peace and solitude, the quiet and calm that the community surrounds him with. He’s still not entirely sure what he’s looking for, what he’s looking to uncover with the longer he stays. 

Louis doesn’t ask, and he doesn’t mention how long he’s been here. 

They’re taking another walk and they pass another building with big, metal doors. It catches his attention in the same way it has every time, but it’s the first time he’s seen the lights on inside. 

“So what do you all do here?” 

Harry’s not sure how to ask about it in another way. 

“Is that not the question you came hoping to answer?” Louis replies.

Harry hums at that. He supposes it is. “I still can’t figure you all out. There’s gotta be more than just - gatherings and meditations, right?” 

Louis shrugs. “Of course there is. It’s similar to seeing a medium.” 

Harry’s eyebrows furrow just slightly at that, teeth toying at his upper lip. 

“You come in with some things you want to get out of your experience,” Louis says. “But, everyone gets their own experience out of it. Their own goals and pleasures are individual. There are true believers in the Rising, truly dedicated families and folks that have long since devoted their entire lives to our community.” 

There’s a pause between them and Harry stares at Louis’ hands as he speaks. 

“We believe in a common cause, but little else truly binds us to each other except a sense of community. A sense of belonging.” 

“So what more does anyone get out of it then say, living in the city?” 

“Why don’t you share your experience so far with me. You’ve most recently come from the city. What’s different?” 

Harry’s stomach twists at the question. He hadn’t noticed the differences in the beginning, too immersed in trying to dig up something that he’s convinced himself doesn’t actually exist. The differences were what he felt kept him from leaving, as the weeks marched on. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Louis chimes in after a too long silence between them. 

“You’re trying to recruit me again.” 

Louis doesn’t deny it this time. 

“What can I do to convince you? Clearly something is drawing you to stay.”  

“You could start by making me think you’re buying the show you’ve put on here.”

“That’s the beauty of it, Harry. I don’t have to sell anything.” 

---

Two days later, Harry finds himself walking down the same foot worn paths that have grown familiar to him, flashlight in hand as he does his best to keep his footsteps quiet and undetected. His heart is racing in his chest. 

He walks to the building that caught his curiosity, trying to calm his racing heart. He doesn’t want to walk in with a predisposed opinion. Doesn’t want to make things seem worse - or better - than they are. He wills himself into a neutral headspace, and pulls on the door handle. 

It’s not locked and the metal door moves easily on its hinges. 

Inside is almost a familiar picture. Like a church he grew up in. A stage sits at the front, but in place of the pews are pillows, spread in neat rows for what he assumes the group sits on. The walls are covered with pots full of plants and shelves with vases stuffed with fresh flowers. Roses, daisies, sunflowers. An array of color that brings life to the hall around him. 

He walks up to the stage to look for any papers or notes he might find. Anything that would seal the group as a true cult and not just a natural living commune. 

The light switches on overhead and Harry nearly yelps, dropping his flashlight and looking to where Louis stands at the base of a staircase, hand resting on a light switch. 

“My apartment is on the second floor, just up those stairs,” Louis says easily. “You have pretty loud footsteps.” Harry’s stomach sinks, a wave of nausea rolling over him. What a rookie mistake, he thinks. He hadn’t thought to ask where Louis lives, where he exists when they aren’t together and he isn’t with the group. 

“What is all of this?” Harry asks, motioning with his hands to… everything. 

“Preparations for a ritual.” Louis is dressed in black, cotton pajamas. They mirror the gray pair he’s seen others wear around the dormitory. The same, oversized, thin cotton that flows down his legs and cinches around his ankles. The same t-shirt top that matches that color exactly, finished with a pair of black slippers. Not included in the outfit, it seems. 

Harry feels suddenly so out of place, wearing the same jeans and plain white shirt he’d been wearing earlier in the day. 

“Would you explain it to me?” 

Louis pauses for a moment, then nods. “Come upstairs.” 

He follows Louis to the back of the hall, watching as he switches a light off and bathes the massive space in darkness. “Please, sit,” Louis says, motioning to a couch pushed back against a wall in the living room. There are potted plants strewn over shelves closest to the windows and a fish tank with at least a dozen little fish swimming in little circles. 

He sits on the farthest end of the couch as Louis retreats through a door that Harry thinks is a kitchen, from the short glimpse he gets before the door swings closed behind him. 

He emerges a few minutes later with two mugs in hand, setting one in front of Harry and keeping one for himself. “Herbal tea. No caffeine. It will help you sleep.” 

“I appreciate it.” Louis sits on the couch beside him, angling his body so he’s looking straight at Harry. It's the same, overwhelming feeling that Louis’ whole focus is directly on him. The feeling that he’s being listened to, heard and seen in entirety. It’s such a rare feeling that it almost swallows him. Too often he’s found himself reeling back from conversations in his life, embarrassed when he realizes that someone isn’t listening to him, or humiliated when someone is only clearly placating him with affirmations while they’re really doing something else. 

He feels so connected to Louis. He’s told him things he hasn’t told anyone else in his life. Things about his childhood. His insecurities about being an omega in the workforce and having to work so much harder than anyone else. It had started as bait, a way to see if Louis would use something against him as a lure to draw him in. Yet, it never happened. Louis never once used any of the information he had against him. 

“You’ve been here a while,” Louis starts. “I’ve come to trust you. Can I tell you something, off the record?” 

Harry nods. 

“We don’t often get newcomers, which I’ve told you before. But we have one, now. An alpha in his early twenties. He came all the way from Utah after hearing about us. He said he would like to join us, and we have accepted him.” 

“That's - that’s good.” 

Louis nods, smiling. “I’d like it if you would join us for his initiation ritual. To watch. It’s why the gathering center is decorated, and why you have only recently seen people coming in and out.” 

None of the rituals of The Rising have ever been publicized. Harry almost feels guilty for accepting as quickly as he does. He wonders if Louis knows that every conversation they have is something he has to catalog away to write about later. Yet, the boundary of “off the record” remains. He knows he can’t share anything Louis asks him not to. But a part of him knows it could still help with the rest of the story. Off the record isn’t truly iron clad, but Harry’s never been much of an ethical rule-breaker. He tries not to let himself think of how it could help put together pieces that fit but he hasn’t found just yet. 

As Louis promised, the initiation ritual is the following day, just past dawn. Harry had slept on Louis’ couch the night before, too tired to make the journey back to the dorms. Louis offered him a spare blanket and pillow and brought him a glass of water for when he woke up. 

“Harry,” Louis taps him awake with light touches to his shoulder. He blinks his eyes open to see the alpha already fully dressed, hair wet and a hand towel wrapped around his shoulders. It’s the most natural Harry has ever seen him, somehow. Even beyond the familiar comfort that seeing him in his sleep clothes brought. 

“Morning,” He sighs and sits up, stretching his arms above his head. The clock on the wall said it was just past four in the morning. 

“You can accompany me today like I said, but it is expected you’ll blend in with the ceremony. You can borrow some of my clothes.” 

Harry nods, following the alpha to his room. He pulls out a set of charcoal black clothes that match his. 

“And this is the last piece,” He says, fastening a piece of cloth around his neck. It’s soft and loose, but tight enough to his skin that he can feel it. It’s the only piece that differentiates him from Louis. 

“What’s that for?” He looks himself over in the mirror hung on the wall of Louis’ bedroom, turning to the side to look over himself in entirety. 

“It’s ceremonial for omegas. It’s really only used for rituals.” 

Harry knows he will never fully understand the nuances of being a member of The Rising in the way the members of the group do. The intricacies of the rituals will be a mystery to him except what Louis chooses to reveal. He doesn’t ask anymore questions. 

Louis leads him downstairs once they’ve both finished getting ready. 

There are more flowers surrounding the room and the pillows are gone from where they’d been laid out the night before. The alpha that Harry hasn’t yet met kneels on a pillow in the center of the stage, back straight and gazing down at the palms of his hand. 

“There’s a kneeling cushion just there,” Louis points to the edge of the stage. “You will sit there to watch.” 

Harry makes his way to the pillow and kneels, mimicking the same position the alpha is in. The alpha’s knees are shaking just slightly as if from strain. 

He hadn’t been there when Harry had come in the night before, but Harry can’t tell how long he’s already been there. 

“Are you alright?” Louis asks him, kneeling to be right at his eye level. “You’re almost with us. How do you feel?” 

“Incredible. I’m so excited to be one with you all, to start this next journey,” the alpha says. 

Louis smiles his same, genuine and beautiful smile that Harry has grown used to seeing. 

“Excellent.” He nods to two alphas standing at the doors that Harry hadn’t noticed, who push them open and stand facing each other as the crowd files in, single file. 

Louis stands at the center of the stage, hands folded behind his back. 

Only once the crowd has fully filled in, all kneeling in neat, straight rows in front of the stage, does Louis begin. 

“Today we welcome Joshua,” He addresses the crowd, then turns to the alpha. “This is a path that your instincts have guided you to. A natural pull you’ve felt for so long and finally allowed yourself to come to. The journey you were always meant to take.” The man nods and he looks overjoyed. 

Louis moves to stand at the center of the stage, a few feet left of the alpha still kneeling. “In this ceremony, we celebrate the coming of a new member of our family.”

Louis’ sermon voice is hypnotic. 

He speaks with the same confidence and calm that he always does, just with the added projection and power in the extended pauses. He speaks just as much with his hands, a language just as loud. He goes on for a while, explaining the blessing that comes with each new family member, allowing them to expand their understanding of the world and bring new experiences to their family. 

“Let us welcome him now.” 

Louis approaches the alpha from behind and taps him twice. He holds his palms out, facing towards the crowd, eyes still closed. 

Two young omegas walk forward, each carrying two large, black bowls in their hands that look to be half full of water. One of them Harry recognizes as Annabelle, from his first days in the group. The other is a boy Harry has seen playing around the grounds but has never met. They’re dressed in white, almost like ring bearers at a wedding. They set each bowl down just beneath Joshua’s palms. 

The two children walk back into the crowd, kneeling back beside their parents. 

Another younger omega comes forward with a small wooden box in her hands, holding it out to Louis. Louis takes the box and thanks her with a gentle smile, and then she goes back to her seat as well. 

Louis opens the box and pulls out a silver knife. Harry’s eyes widen for just a moment, but he forces a calm expression back to his face. He cuts straight lines across Joshua’s palms, who doesn’t so much as flinch. Louis brings the alpha’s fingers closed into fists and he turns his hands over. The blood slowly seeps between his fingers and drips into the bowls of water just beneath. 

“Welcome, Joshua,” Louis says first. 

“Welcome,” The crowd repeats in unison. 

The crowd stands in order of their rows, dividing themselves with practiced ease. Two lines form on either side of the alpha, who still kneels in front of the bowls, eyes now open. 

Each person approaches the alpha, one by one. “Welcome, Joshua.” 

As they approach, each person puts a handful of flower petals into one of the bowls. As soon as they’ve welcomed him and given their petals, they file out of the gathering hall. It continues for a long while until the hall is empty except a handful of people that Harry can only assume are Louis’ high ranking members. 

“That’s it,” Louis says softly. He reaches a hand to Harry’s face and he feels overwhelmed with it. The entire group radiates joy. A sweet, unfiltered kind of joy that spreads through Harry in waves. The touch feels like it draws him in and he lets his eyes fall closed as he leans into it. “We will gather shortly for mealtime and Joshua will be one with us.” 

“I see what you mean.” 

“Describe it to me, from your perspective.” 

“The energy. The alpha was so engaged in it, so pleased to be here. And it’s infectious.” 

Louis nods and smiles. “It is, darling. That it is.” 

After the ceremony, Harry returned to his dormitory room to sleep, exhaustion heavy in his eyes from lack of sleep. 

Harry wakes with a dry mouth and the feeling that his face is on fire. He’s surrounded by Louis’ scent, clinging to him and spreading across his skin, immersing him entirely. He ruts himself against the bed, already breathing heavily and his heart beating fast in his chest.

“Fuck,” He whimpers to himself. “No. Not the time, not the place.”

He strips the clothes off of his body in haste, laying face down naked against the top of his duvet. 

He forces himself to sit up and then stand, pulling a rove over his shoulders and walking with hurried steps to the bathroom. It’s locked and he hears the shower running on the other side of the door. He takes a steadying breath and turns around to go back to his room. 

He rummages through his cabinet for the bottle of his suppressants, hands sweating as he dumps three pills into his hands and swallows them down dry. 

The pills are smaller than he remembers, going down easily without choking him at all. 

He takes a steadying breath. “It’s fine. Everything is fine,” He says to himself. The heat in his body seems to subside even if just slightly as the effects of his suppressants kick in. 

He manages to make it through the rest of the day without any symptoms, attending meal times and going on his usual walks with Louis. He has a slight headache, but nothing he can’t make his way through. 

It doesn’t last long. Less than twenty-seven hours, if he’s being precise. 

He comes home from breakfast just before eight in the morning the following day and his muscles are sore, his head is throbbing, and he feels queasy. He feels like he’s standing too close to a fire while camping, waves of acceptable warmth followed by the feeling of burning scattering across his entire skin. 

He dresses himself in lighter clothes and goes for a long walk to calm himself down, mentally combing through his evening routine from the previous night and the nights preceding. He’s been on suppressants since his first heat when he was fourteen. He’s never once missed a dose, having heard the horror stories of weeks-long withdrawals that mimic a more painful heat. 

He’s heard of breakthrough heats before. Usually caused by intense stress or a dietary change. But he’s never been eating better and he’s never been less stressed. 

He’s sweating. It’s all he can think about as it rolls in beads down his face. There’s less people out walking than usual and for that he’s thankful. The last thing he would want is for someone to see him in this state. 

He walks another circle around the property in an attempt to bring himself down. The chill of the fresh mountain wind does nothing to cool him down and brings no relief. 

He goes back to his room and lays back down, shutting the blinds and turning the lights off to ease the throb in his head. 

He jolts awake sometime later, feeling wetness between his cheeks and the feeling of being half hard buzzing through him. He exhales shakily and grabs the bottle of suppressants he’d left on his bedside, taking three more in the hopes of getting another day of relief. 

He’ll need to leave the group to go to a pharmacy soon, at this rate. He’d come in with a fresh ninety day supply and he was already running low, but the last of the pills at the bottom of the bottle make his stomach feel queasy. 

He swallows down the pills and chugs down half a glass of water. 

He goes on another short walk to clear his head, feeling the ache in his head and muscles slowly fade away the longer he walks. 

But his mind goes back to the pills. To the same thought he’d had earlier in the day. 

His suppressants felt smaller than usual. 

He’d been taking the same brand for years and never once had he paid much attention to the size of the pills. Little white ovals with a dash in the middle, he thinks. It’s what he remembers. But, with such a constant prescription, brands change and compositions change and pill shapes and sizes and colors change. 

A part of him thinks he’s being paranoid. 

Another part of him feels the sinking pit in his stomach grow deeper and deeper. 

As soon as he gets back to the dorm he beelines to the bathroom where he finds the bottle and he pours the entire contents into his hands. 

The pills are different, he realizes with a moment of horrifying clarity. They’re too small. He squints just slightly and studies them closer, his stomach dropping when he reads the impression on the pill: A S P. 

Aspirin. 

He’s been taking aspirin in place of what he thought was his suppressants for - who knows how long. 

He stares at himself in the mirror on the wall for a beat too long. “I need to get the hell out of here,” He says to himself. He goes back to his room with haste in his step, sweat running down his neck and dripping down past his shoulder blades. 

He shoves his notes into the bag and leaves his clothes in the drawers where they’ve been for days. He considers it a donation, in his eyes. He can get new clothes when he’s back home and back to familiarity. 

He throws the backpack over his shoulder and goes down the stairs quickly, barely grasping the handrail as he goes. He gets outside and feels the chilled night air on his skin and sighs out a breath of relief. He can see his breath in front of him from the chill, but the cold is still not a complete relief. A layer of snow covers the ground and he almost wants to lay down in it, but he marches forward. 

The sun hasn’t set yet, but it’s nearly dipped below the peaks of the mountains. He has maybe half an hour of light left to find the dirt road that brought him here. Even in the throes of his heat, he knows he won’t survive a night in below freezing wilderness. 

“Harry,” Louis suddenly calls from a ways behind him. “I was hoping to see you. You weren’t at lunch or dinner.” 

Harry shrugs. “Haven’t been feeling very hungry I suppose.” 

“Going somewhere?” Louis asks with a gentle smile. Harry’s heart hammers in his chest. 

He takes a deep breath as he settles himself, forcing a calm look on his face. Louis isn’t threatening at all, is the thing. He’d come in search of a story and, like so many others, found nothing. He thinks for a moment that it’s just the yearning for the next great story that clouds his judgment, that makes him see Louis as something he’s not. As a threat. 

“Um,” Harry fumbles with his words in the way he only does when he’s on the edge of heat, “Was thinking about a walk.” The only threat he knows of is his impending heat, with what he can only guess is less than a day before he’s completely lost to it. 

It’s a few hours walk back to the hotel where he knows he can lock himself away and ride it out. Even if it means he’ll have to tuck his tail between his legs and go back to the office without a story. 

Louis’ eyes dart down to the backpack on Harry’s right shoulder. 

He doesn’t mention it. 

Instead, “Let me join you.” 

Harry doesn’t mention his plan to leave, to walk the distance back to town.

They walk in silence for a while and Harry’s muscles start to hurt. Everything always feels like so much when he’s falling into heat. Every action feels amplified in difficulty the longer he fights himself off. 

He zones out as he listens to Louis talk. The constant lull of his words as he talks about his collection of rocks he’s found on his hikes through the mountains and his divorce from the catholicism he grew up in. He doesn’t seem to mind that Harry isn’t contributing, keeping the pace of the conversation and their walk in a way Harry finds easy to follow. 

He finds more clarity when Louis stops walking, eyes refocusing on the surroundings around them. “I figured it would be best for you to head to bed.” It’s the first mention of his less than ideal condition. If it’s affecting the alpha, he doesn’t show it. For that, Harry is grateful. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. I can send someone if you need anything.” 

“Right. Thanks.” 

Harry closes the door behind him and sinks to the ground against it. The tile floor is cooling, even through the material of his clothes. He takes in a deep breath and steadies himself, counting down from one hundred in his head to allow Louis time to walk away. 

Harry walks right back out of the door as soon as he feels it’s safe, taking a deep and steadying breath.

Just behind the door, Louis is still standing there. His hands are tucked into his pockets but he still has the same, friendly smile on his face. “Hi, Harry,” He says softly. Six people stand around him, caging Harry in between them and the door behind him. 

“What’s going on?” Panic rises in his throat. 

“We’re here to celebrate you and the gift of your heat coming.” 

Harry makes a beeline to get away from them, an attempt to push through the small crowd and get somewhere. Anywhere. 

“Oh, love,” Louis calls after him. 

Two of the alphas from the group come behind him, each taking one of his arms and lifting him until he’s right back to facing Louis.. He thrashes and kicks as they move him until the pain in his muscles takes over and he sags helplessly where he’s restrained. 

“My sweet boy,” Louis coos, brushing a strand of Harry’s hair from his face. “You were hoping for such a breaking story. Searching in all the right places and sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Harry pants through his mouth, trying to keep Louis’ scent as far away from him as possible. 

“That’s alright,” Louis continues. Harry isn’t even sure if he’s talking to him anymore. Louis’ hand finds Harry’s cheek as he stands in front of him. “Do you remember what I told you before, about joining us?” A stroke of his thumb nearly knocks Harry’s breath from his lungs. Left and right. Slow and calculated little circles. 

Harry pulls his head away in a last attempt to flee from the touch. 

He regrets it as soon as it’s gone, skin aching for the connection again. 

Louis grips his chin and guides his head upwards until their eyes meet. He traces his thumb over Harry’s lips gently, coaxing his mouth open until the pad of his thumb rests on Harry’s tongue. 

It forces him to breathe in Louis’ scent through his nose and it hits him all at once, his body going lax in the restraints holding him up. Something like a moan crawls up his throat at the touch and he’s entirely certain he’s hard by now. 

Louis pulls his thumb from his mouth and Harry whines with the loss of it. “Answer me, sweet boy. You’re usually so full of words.” 

“You said - You wouldn’t make me join you.” 

Louis hums. Another stroke of his thumb along his cheek, leaving a trail of wetness in tow. Then he trails his hand over his face and down his neck, pressing too hard into the junction between his shoulder and neck, right over his bonding spot. It makes Harry cry out, pulling against the hands that hold him still to try and get away from the touch. It burns, sends a wave of pain and nausea through him he didn’t know was possible. 

He feels himself being lifted again, but he feels he can do nothing but hang his head in front of him as he’s carried. He forces his head up as he’s brought back inside of the gathering hall. 

It’s empty, but the decor is much the same from the night before. There are more flowers adorning the walls and the stage where there are two of the smaller kneeling pillows and a large, round cushion right in the center. 

They’re alone except for the small group Louis brought with them and their voices echo in the large, empty space. 

“Now. I’d like you to try your answer again.”

Harry pants. “What?” Confusion clouds his mind and he feels disoriented, distracted by the pain in his arms and his body and the pounding in his head. 

Louis, as patient as ever, just repeats his question. “I’d like you to tell me what I said about you joining us,” He says as he fastens the same black cloth around his neck from the day before.  

“You wouldn’t ask me to join again.” 

“Better. What else?” 

“And that I would have to ask first.” 

Louis seems satisfied with his answer and hums an affirmation that somehow prompts the two alphas behind him to release his arms. He doesn’t move, even without the restraints. He’s not sure if it’s his own desire holding him still or maybe a lack of any other option. 

“Yes, my sweet boy.” Louis kneels to be at his level, fingers peeling back the jacket from his shoulders and revealing more bare skin. “This is your initiation ceremony. The blessing of a heat, surrounded by a family that loves you and is only waiting for you to say the word.” 

He’s not sure how many people are in the room with them. “This isn’t the initiation ceremony.” His voice feels low, barely audible except between the barely there distance between them. “Last night was - it was different.” 

“My darling,” Louis’s hand comes back to his cheek, stroking the underside of his jaw and sending sparks of electricity through him. “That is the alpha initiation ceremony. This is a joy we rarely get. An unbonded omega’s initiation.”

“Oh, God,” Harry whimpers, feeling his fingers tremble. “You did this.” 

His mind feels clear for a moment even through the burning heat and pain sparking through all of his muscles. The quiet is too suddenly replaced by loud footsteps and quiet chatter filling the building. 

“Sweet boy, you came to us in search of something. I can’t help but wonder if some part of you was longing for this. For a life of simple pleasure, of easy joy, of submission .” Louis’ voice drops a bit on the last word, sending a shiver through Harry’s back. “We removed those poisons you’ve been filling your body with.” 

The more Harry thinks of it, the more he realizes what he’d missed before. 

The strength of Louis’ scent, the way he felt drawn to him. The connectedness he felt to other omegas in the group and the bond he felt between the children that he interacted with. The constant, dull ache in his muscles. Laid out in front of him, it almost feels obvious. 

He lets his eyes leave Louis’ and scans the crowd around them. What feels like every member of the cult had filed in and found their place kneeling on the floor just in front of the stage. Louis speaks to them next, but his hands stay on Harry’s skin. 

“Tonight we have the blessing of Harry’s fertility, of his freedom from the poisons too many of us have had the displeasure of subjecting ourselves to when being forced to conform to the life the city forces on the willing.” 

They’re familiar faces, people he’s known and learned to trust over the months he’s been surrounded by them. They look the same way Harry felt when he watched the alpha’s initiation. Overwhelmed, transfixed, caught in such a powerful moment. 

“Harry will be mine, but he needs a bit of help in making this leap of faith to find his true journey. I believe you all have the power to help him come to his true calling.” 

Another wave of unbearable heat courses through Harry’s body and he cries out, tears gathering in his eyes and falling down his cheeks. 

“You had those poisons in your body for so, so long, my sweet love. Your suffering can end here. Together, with us.” 

Together, with us the crowd repeats it like a mantra. 

“You said I could convince you by showing you what this is about. What we can give you that your city life can’t.” Louis trails his fingers down Harry’s arm. “We can give you this. Belonging where you haven’t felt it before. You’ll never feel alone like you have for so long. You’ll have a family that loves you. Someone there for you no matter where you turn. Together. With us.” 

Harry’s chest feels tight. 

The crowd repeats the mantra again. Together, with us. 

“I can’t,” Harry whispers. 

“Your instincts have led you here, to me, to us,” 

To us. 

“Let yourself go, my love. I’m right here to catch you. We’re all here.” 

We’re all here. 

“Anything holding you back, you can let it go.”

Let it go. 

“Let yourself go.” 

Let yourself go. 

And quieter, whispered like a secret between them, “I’m here to catch you. I will always catch you.” 

Another sob escapes Harry’s mouth and tears cloud his vision. Louis’ hands on his feel electric and his scent makes him feel so calm, so at peace. He knows Louis will catch him, trusts him more than he ever has anyone else. 

“Please,” Harry whines as Louis wipes the tears from his eyes. 

“Please what, love?” 

“Please make me yours.” 

“You’ll be good for me from now on, won’t you? My sweet boy.” Harry nods, frantic and overwhelmed with everything. 

Louis pulls each article of clothing away from his body with gentle fingers. Cold air rushes against his skin, a momentary relief from the burning he feels. He feels gentle kisses against his skin, down his back and over his shoulders, along the back of his neck. 

“Tonight, Harry joins us and becomes ours.”

Ours. 

The touch leaves his skin for a moment too long and Harry whimpers at the loss. Just as quick as it was gone, the touch is back, soothing the burning in his skin everywhere he touches him, strong and sure hands gripping him and moving him easily. Louis lifts him to the larger cushion on the stage and sits both of them on it. Harry is between Louis’ legs and it’s only then that he can feel they’re both naked. 

He’s wet and hard, surrounded by Louis and his intoxicating scent and the high of everything. 

Ours. The crowd repeats again. 

Louis sits him on his cock in a swift drop and Harry comes with a shout. His body shudders but he’s still hard and sweat still drips down his skin, pooling in his collarbones. 

Louis lifts him up and down in a steady rhythm, punching whines and moans out of Harry’s throat that he can barely believe are from him. “Oh, God.” 

“It’s just us here, love.” 

“Louis -” Harry’s mouth feels dry and his hips burn with bruises he knows will be there tomorrow. Louis muscles flex with the strain of lifting Harry, a constant and steady pace that has Harry at a loss for words. 

Louis lifts him again and he feels the tug of his knot against his rim and he cries out again. 

Ours. 

Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and pants a moan into his ear. 

“ Mine,” He says at the same time the crowd chants again: Ours. 

Louis’ knot swells and Harry goes limp against him, finally feeling some kind of satisfied. His eyes are closed when he feels the first unfamiliar hand against his face. He opens his eyes to see another alpha. He touches his face with a gentle smile as he places a cut flower on his thigh. “Welcome home.” 

An omega is next. She kneels in front of him and touches his hand. “Welcome home.” She threads a flower into his hair. 

It continues as such, alpha and omega alternating to welcome him, to ground him with a touch and give him a gift. The flowers are such small gifts, yet he feels more and more settled as he watches them pile up around him. 

The last alpha to welcome him is the alpha he’d watched get initiated only the night before. He looks just as happy as he had the night before and places the flower in Harry’s lap that is completely covered with an assortment of beautiful colors. 

Harry reaches a hand up through the pile of flowers and reaches up and behind him to touch Louis’s face. He wants to look at him, wants to be closer to him. Somehow, even impaled on his alpha’s cock he doesn’t feel close enough to him. 

“I’m here to catch you, love. Let go, now.” 

Harry exhales a gentle breath and opens his eyes half lidded one more time. He feels Louis’ mouth at the nape of his neck, teeth grazing over his bond mark. 

Covered in flowers and surrounded by people who love him, welcome home is the last thought on Harry’s mind as he feels Louis’ teeth sink into his skin, bonding them together forever. 

He whimpers out with the pain before Louis licks his tongue over the wound again, soothing the smarting ache. He feels drool drying on his chin and he’s certain he looks as disheveled as he feels. A moment of clarity comes over him as he tilts his head back to look up at Louis. 

“Alpha,” Harry says quietly. 

“I’m here for you my love. I love you so much.” 

He lets sleep take him.