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The thing about Nina is, she’s not his. Nina is not Niall’s omega and there is absolutely nothing to be done about it and he’s resigned himself to the fate of pining for the rest of forever. So it’s fine.
Another thing is, he’s not allowed to be jealous, but that doesn’t stop him from being jealous. Ever. He’s just quiet about it. Apparently, tonight, he is not quiet about it because it’s setting Louis on edge even though Louis is nearly numb to Niall’s random bouts of jealousy. Eventually Louis slaps him in the arm and shout whispers, “If you don’t stop growling I’m going to rip out your tongue, you fucking knothead.”
Niall’s eyes widen guiltily when he realizes what he’s been doing and attempts to look away from Nina for two seconds to meet Louis’ eyes.
“You’re such a dummy, Niall,” he huffs, exasperated with Niall’s endless pining. “She’s making you jealous on purpose,” Louis insists, but Niall just shakes his head and continues to watch the others circling her. He doesn’t notice her lingering glances or disappointed frown.
The thing about Nina is, she doesn’t live with Niall. Nina sleeps at his apartment and watches as he makes her breakfast, complains endlessly about work, sticks her toes under his thighs when she’s cold, and has almost all of her belongings at his place, but she does not live with him. In order for her to live with him, Niall would actually have to ask her to move in and he refuses to do that. Something about being presumptuous and she would probably never want to live with him and unmated omegas aren’t supposed to live with unmated alphas, he tells himself. (the truth is he’s too scared she’ll say no).
He drives her home as the designated driver (which did not help his jealousy whatsoever) and fights the urge to pull over and just scent the shit out of her. She smells wrong, like fabric softener and alcohol and something like a dryer in a hot garage and he hates it. It makes him frantic and jittery, finger tapping on the wheel with unused alpha energy and teeth grinding. Nina is drunk and asleep, which is a comfort because now he doesn’t have to fill the awkward tense silence with excuses about why he’s so tense, effectively making him more tense. So. He wants to put his hand on her thigh, just to ease the storm of possessiveness in his mind, but he doesn’t want to wake her up and have to explain why.
He pulls into the parking garage under his apartment and says quietly, “Okay, Nina, we’re home,” and then looks over to see she’s still asleep, with no chance of waking up any time soon. He parks and contemplates waking her up. She smiles a bit in her sleep, eyelids fluttering and it makes his heart light up, warm and in love. He ends up carrying them to her door, nuzzling his cheek into her hair subconsciously and unintentionally pulling her scent and curling it up in his chest. It wraps around his ribs and swirls into his stomach, curving his lips into a contented smile.
He has a bit of a hard time opening his door, but gets them through without waking up Nina or braining either of them on their doorframe. The process gives him a strange sense of alpha pride, glowing in his chest and releasing itself in a purr like noise. He feels the omega burrow closer into his chest and curl herself even smaller into his arms, safe and secure. Blaming it on stupid alpha instincts, he kisses her hair and doesn’t let himself feel guilty.
He sets her on his bed, a strange need to wrap her up in his scent and make her smell like his again. Clumsy fingers begin to untie her converse, every part of her feeling significant and beautiful, even her cute socks from target. He feels like he’s intruding, like he’s walking into a closed off section of a museum. She’s so beautiful, though, is the thing, and she smells amazing- better than any other omega and he’s gonna scent her soon if he doesn’t leave now. So he kisses her forehead one last time and pulls away completely, already missing her sleepy warmth.
“Wait,” he hears, raspy and soft, “stay,” she says, childlike, just a whisper, almost a whine and doesn’t open her eyes. “Stay,” she says again, this time almost to herself and snuggles against the pillows (pillows that smell like him, he thinks). And who is he to resist a beautiful omega, curled up in his bed, warm and sleepy and absolutely perfect.
He climbs in beside her, the strange urge to cry coming over him as he smiles at her, curls splayed out over his pillow. He does try to stay on his side of his bed, but wakes up the next morning with his nose pressed to her neck.
When Nina wakes up the next morning, it’s not with her mouth pressed into the pillow like it normally is, which always freaks Niall out when he wakes up earlier than her and sees her smothering herself on his couch. She’s curled in on her side, knees pulled up protectively to her chest and the cover pulled up above her head the way she likes it. It’s warmer than usual under there, different from the winter mornings she’s been experiencing for the past two months. She’s constantly cold, but right now she’s contentedly warm, with an arm wrapped around her waist and a nice blanket of heat across her back.
She wriggles back against it, chasing more of that beautiful warmth and feels the strange point of a nose against her neck. She freezes, conscious of her unconscious broadcast of comfort and content, and hopes Niall isn’t awake when she outstretches her neck. She senses the change of scent under the blanket, and tries not to shiver at the thought of Niall scenting her. He’d only done it once before and she hadn’t even gotten the chance to enjoy it.
The first time she’d cried in front of Niall was quite possibly the worst day of her life. That might be an exaggeration, but it really had felt like the worst day of her life. Her roommate had left for the week and she was sat alone the whole day, trying to do the heaps of homework and studying she needed to do for finals. She sat there for hours staring at it all, spread out on her bed, overwhelming and terrifying and so so so nervous she couldn’t even pick up a pencil. She didn’t know where to begin, the anxiousness of all the work and the closing deadline. It was dark outside when she started to cry and all she could hear was the incessant buzzing of her phone. She’d had plans to meet up with Niall, but she didn’t know how to get up and stand, she’was shaking too hard, couldn’t figure out how to open the door with quivering fingers. She didn’t know what to do, she could hardly even see, she was too scared. She didn’t know what to do.
She heard a loud knocking, then, and tried not to jump. It’s not that hard, to be honest. She’d been staring, completely still, for approximately five hours, with no way discernible way to stop. She’d triedto think of a way to stand up and answer the door, but she couldn’t even fathom using her legs. She heard the door open, and Niall call out, “Nina? You here, love?” and immediately became even more of an anxious mess, didn’t want him to see her like this, didn’t want him to worry. Nothing’s wrong and everything is fine, it’s good her life is good she’s happy, she doesn’t want him to think she’s sad there's nothing wrong. She didn’t know what to do and wished desperately, for a second, that she had someone to ask “what do I do, what do I do,” and then she heard Niall walking toward her.
“Love, I’m coming in,” he called out, and she panicked, covered her face, tried to calm down, held her breath. She smelled him already, knew he was close and she doesn’t know what do. He was going to see her wet cheeks, her red eyes, he’s going to ask what’s wrong and she’s not going to know what to say. She knew he wouldn’t believe her when she said nothing, but it was true. She just shudders, tried to calm down her rapidly beating heart (she’d been surprised it hadn’t given out, it’d been beating like that so long). The sound of him stopping before her bed had her holding her breath- she didn’t want him to notice the sobs.
“Hi,” he’d said quiet and overly kind, “How are you,” he stepped closer and she’d felt the calming pheromones as he approached, but it did nearly nothing to slow her heartbeat or tears.
“I’m fine,” she scratched out after multiple calming breaths and attempted to swallow around the lump in her throat. “Yeah?” he replied.
“I’m fine, I promise,” she said again, words catching around her tears, “I’m okay, I swear, there’s nothing wrong,” she started crying again, “I’m sorry,” she squeezed out desperately, her throat constricting her apologies for the tears, “I’m really okay.”
The sound of her notebooks and textbooks being closed stressed her out even more, she needed to finish her work and she felt another wave of fresh tears come on. She gasped wildly trying to keep them at bay, winced when she felt Niall sit down next to her. His hands were warm and soft and gentle when he’d rested them on her wrists. It’s a sudden rush of alpha, protective and loving and gentle and safe, when he began to pull her hands away from her face. She worried and pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, furrowed them, raised and furrowed them at the same time. Her eyes burned and she couldn’t seem to close them, sent the tears running down her face even faster. They don’t meet Niall’s, even though she knew he was watching her with quiet intent and kind eyes.
“What’s wrong, darling?” he asked, slow and soft and quiet. “I don’t know,” she whined, lips pressing together to form an involuntary pout. She closed her eyes again and breathed harshly for a second.
“Okay, well, you’re safe, and nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s coming to get you, no one’s after you, you’re fine,” he assured her, kind and never condescending. His grip on her wrists remained, tying her in one spot, keeping her tied down, anchoring her here. He began to rub his hands up and down her arms, the pressure welcome, some sort of sensory relief, she’d told herself.
“I- I just. I’m trying- and sometimes, but I have- and I don’t know- what- what what- what’s- homework. I have- there’s- i don’t- I can’t- I don’t- what to do,” she breathed harshly, shutting her mouth tight.
“I’m gonna hug you, okay?” he’d told, and she looked to him, crying and crying with no control of her breath. She’d tried to nod, she’d tried to say yes, and she couldn’t move, didn’t know what to do. She finally managed to nod and then couldn’t stop nodding, even when he’d got his arms around her so tight she could barely breathe. Strangely enough, that felt better and managed to calm her down slightly- that combined with the steady, secureness he’d broadcasted. She pushed in closer to him, tightly hung onto the loops of his pants, and resisted the urge to hook her fingers into the waistband, just to be sure he’d stay close. Only when she pushed closer, face pressed to his chest, could she sense the tight ball of worry, his pheromones doing their best to calm her down. It made her cry more, the thought of worrying him, and she pushed herself up so she could feel his chin on her head.
She needed every point of contact, needed him to touch her everywhere, keep her grounded, she needed something to hold onto, a physical touch to fixate on. He pressed a kiss to her hair, and left his mouth slightly open, a cheap trick to try and pretend like you’re not scenting someone when you are. She found herself whimpering for more, then becoming embarrassed of the whimper, then being soothed of her embarrassment, strong hands rubbing her back and holding her closer.
She managed to wrap herself around him like a koala, ankles crossed tightly against his back with no chance of detaching herself. Then she became worried she was too clingy, released her hold a little bit and then worried about not being close enough and tightened her grip again. She rested her forehead against the side of his neck, pressed her nose to his collarbone, gripped his shirt tightly at his chest. She listened to the steady purr he’d begun to emanate, the strange and random waves of crying began to spread out more. She wrapped herself in the tranquility, the lifeline he’d broadcasted, breathed deeply through her nose before she realized she’d begun to scent Niall, and stopped breathing all together.
“Hey, no it’s okay,” he whispered, when he realized she’d been hit by another wave of tears, this time worse than before and started to scent her back. He pulled her up farther, and she’d been limp like a doll when he squeezed her lower back to move her, so his nose could meet her neck and took long and satisfying pulls of her scent. It calmed her down nearly immediately. Slower, more content, overwhelmed tears began to fall, the lump in her throat gone, until she fell asleep.
Niall wakes up to the best thing he’s ever smelled. And that’s not an exaggeration. He continues to pull air, steadily scenting and nuzzling into the curly hair at the back of her neck. At the back of Nina’s neck. Yikes.
He hopes she’s not awake, but then registers the slight confusion, tight in her chest under all the contentness and comfort. He pulls away quickly, a reflex, and loosens his hold around her waist. He hears her take an unsteady breath.
“I need to pee,” she whispers, and he nods. Neither of them move. She breathes in deeply and flings the blankets off her, swiftly swinging her jean clad legs onto the floor. He immediately feels the effects of her absence, coldness suddenly gracing his skin, grey light of the early morning making its first appearance. He turns on his back, head thumping against his pillow with a whoomph.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
It’d been a week and he still hadn’t heard from Nina. It was the second Tuesday of the month, meaning they had band practice. He was not planning on going.
Louis busted through the door armed with a six pack of beer, his familiar omega scent setting Niall at ease (even with Niall’s alpha brain so confused- he hadn’t seen his omega in over a week, he’d been having random bouts of anxiety attacks with no discernible pattern or trigger).
“You’re a dumb fucking bitch,” he declares.
“Literally…” Niall starts, and then realizes he has nothing more to say, sighing and resigning himself to fate, he accepts the beer Louis thrusts into his hand.
“Look.” Louis says after an hour of listening silently to the whole story, “You’re gonna fucking write her a goddamn song, you’re gonna go to the practice and you’re gonna make her ass sing a fucking song about herself and she’s gonna realize that she’s the dumbass bitch,” he gasps, “But. You’re also a dumbass bitch, so be careful. I mean. We don’t know what she’s thinking- Like obviously she’s in love with you but she probably doesn’t know how you feel, so that’s probably why she ran out ” he hits Niall playfully over the back of the head.
“Go get your omega,” he pauses and takes a drink before tilting his head as if in thought, “The right way this time,”
He shows up to John’s garage shaking and very, very late. He’d made Louis drive him and drop him off because the chance that he’d crash and die before even getting there was much too high. He very nervously, but casually does not look at Nina and grits out a very casual, “All right, lads?” and casually laughs while casually sitting down, casually.
He gets various nods and acknowledgements while they get water and prepare for the next song.
“You got anything new for us, then?” Gerry asks, twirling his sticks and restlessly bouncing his leg. He nods and swallows, pulling his notebook out. He flips it open to the page and hands it to Gerry, too scared to read it out.
“Jesus Christ, Niall, is this written in fucking hieroglyphics. Lordy” He hands the notebook back to Niall. “Just sing it to us, fuck,”
He forces a tight smile and clears his throat.
It’s not easy, he thinks, vulnerability.
“ When you feel your love’s been taken ,” he starts off shaky, singing the tune he’d been humming to himself frantically on the way over here. The word taken comes out quickly and offkey, louder than the rest of the words, desperately trying to sing as quickly as possible- rip off the band-aid. “ When you know there’s something missing, ” it’s slower this time, more even, “ in the dark, we’re barely hanging on, ” he pauses and realizes he doesn’t need to look at the notebook to remember the words. “ Then you rest your head upon my chest and you feel like there ain’t nothing left,” He could sing this truth in his sleep. “ I’m afraid that what we had is gone, ” he sees from the corner of his eye the band awkwardly eyeing each other.
“ There’s a light in the dark, still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me, that I wanna keep. Please don’t leave, ” he looks directly into her eyes, chest heaving, ignoring everyone else in the room and watches as she stares defiantly back at him. He’s sure his face is red and patchy or pale. He’s sure he looks absolutely crazy, panting just sitting there. But she looks gorgeous, even stony as she is and he thinks he can see a twitch at the corner of her mouth. He’s unsure if it’s a twitch down or up but either way it’s better than nothing- it’s a reaction and he’ll take it.
John breaks the silence first, “Shit, lad, you’ve already got me in tears and that’s only the first part,” he says, awkwardly trying to drag Niall’s gaze away from Nina. It doesn’t work even when Nina looks away, hair falling in front of her eyes.
“The rest?” Gerry prompts, and Niall takes a breath, opening his mouth to sing.
“Would you leave, please?” Nina says finally, the first Niall’s heard her voice in over a week and it nearly makes him choke in response. A visceral reaction in his chest that spills over his throat but is caught behind his teeth, never escaping into the air. He thinks she means him at first, before he sees her eyeing the other boys. She’s broadcasting hostility and something deeper, colder and he’s glad the rest of the boys are betas because he’s just barely keeping the longing inside.
The band looks amongst itself awkwardly, able to detect the tension even without a certain sense of smell and shrug. John ushers the rest of them out but not before saying, “I wanna hear the rest of that song, alright mate?” Niall nods distractedly and then waits for Nina to speak once the door is closed. She wastes no time.
“I am trying to be normal and you are making that task incredibly difficult,” she says to Niall, stiffly and rehearsed. Her words baffle him and he notices that her eyes seem to glaze over, and also takes note of the rigidness in her spine, the anxious tick of her fingers. He struggles to ignore the strange twitch of her foot and the strange red marks around the tops of her knees. It’s perhaps second nature to quickly scan for injuries or telling body language, so he thinks nothing of his eyes roaming over her body and feels caught out when she clears her throat at him.
“I-” she stops and takes a deep breath, as if forgetting what she was going to say. He furrows his brow when she doesn’t say anything else and turns to sit closer to her, but she stops him mid movement, “Wait,” she says, she swallows, “Wait,” and he looks into her eyes again in his surprise. She’s not looking at anything, brows furrowed and eyes blank.
“Don’t-” she closes her eyes and furrows her brows, in pain and Niall understands all of the sudden.
“You’re in depri,” and she winces, turning her chin away from him, a self deprecating smile gracing her lips.
“Fuck, this is my fault, are you okay?” he goes to reach out to her then thinks better of it and places his hands back in his lap.
“I’m fine, Niall.” she says rigidly, “I’m sure all omegas experience touch deprivation at some point in their life,” she attempts to say it lightly, make it not such a big deal. He recognizes the formality in her voice though, the strange way she’s wording her sentences. Lots of omegas experience depri, most of them just a little bit all the time, an annoying buzz or a strange aversion to touch, he’s heard. But this seems bad and it is clearly his fault. His omega should never, ever experience depri, and then realizes she’s not his omega and he has no control of what she experiences or doesn’t experience. Except he does though! It’s his fault, which ultimately means he’s got to fix it, which ultimately means that he’s got to get Nina to not hate him so fucking much right now.
“Not you,” he supplies unhelpfully, and it makes Nina flare her nostrils and clench her jaw.
“Clearly, Niall, it does happen to me,” and she stands up to face the wall and brace her hands against the door, trying to steady her breathing.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, and then I come here, singing this shit. Ugh, I’m so sorry. What do I do?” he’s too scared to get too close, doesn’t want to drop her by accident or scare her or anything. But he wants to hold her and fix it, nose along her neck and pet her hair. He wants to take her back home, put her in his bed with his sweatshirts, his blankets, wants his scent all over her (also wants her scent on his bed and sweatshirt and blankets because she hasn’t been there in a week and the scent faded away on the third day).
She shakes her head, not at him, but a minute little shake just to herself. She takes a deep breath through her mouth and purses her lips.
“It’s fine,” she says careful and thought out and so, so unnatural. She looks exhausted and tired and sick and he can’t help it when he blurts out, “Come home- I’ll make you pasta and bread and we can have soup. Whatever you want- we can watch those rom-coms you like when you’re sad.”
“ Princess Protection Program isn’t a rom-com,” she mumbles, disgruntled and embarrassed. It makes him laugh, relieved to see his Nina back.
“Please?” he smiles, ducking his head to nervously meet her eyes. She pauses for a long time, anxiously sucking her bottom lip and nods once, staring fixedly at the ground.
The drive back is awkward once Niall realizes he doesn’t have a car. It’s especially awkward because Nina’s eyes won’t focus enough to drive her own car, but Niall doesn’t want to go all alpha on her and refuse to let her drive, but they’re going to crash is the thing. So they pull over and Niall quietly closes his door, gingerly turning the key in the ignition and slowly pressing his foot down on the pedal (everything he does is careful and slow and soft, even if it has nothing to do with Nina. he’s scared and timid at this point, doesn’t want to unsettle her and will risk nothing). He looks over at Nina, curled up in the passenger seat, knees tucked under her chin, so so omega.
She told him once that she always tries to stand up the tallest in a room, always holds her chin up, always stares people directly in the eye. She explained her satisfaction in the surprise and confusion on people’s faces when they registered that she was an omega. At home, she’s never been scared to be omega, curling up small, hunching into him, soft and sleepy and vulnerable. She’s always walking up to him in the kitchen, fuzzy socks nudging his bare toes and standing uncomfortably close until he hugs her. She’s constantly asking for reassurance, even if it is under the guise of a joke, over exaggerated whining and dramatics. He indulges her anyways with a little “you’re perfect, you stupid dummy,” and she gives him that goofy grin, nose scrunched up and tongue stuck out.
She stares, unblinking out the window, now, hunched in on herself uncomfortably and gripping her own wrists so tightly he sees white bloom under her fingertips. He denies the compulsion to rest his hand on her head or her wrist, try and soothe her, ease the rigidness out of her spine.
He stops the car and steps out. Opens her door when she continues to stare blankly, tears gathering around her waterline, either from the depri or having her eyes open so long. She ghosts her fingers by his wrist as they walk up the stairs, Niall too anxious to step foot in a elevator today, almost as if she’s waiting to fall, bracing herself for Niall to catch her.
The smell of pasta and soup fills the apartment, somewhat hindering the strain of desperation along with the strain to hide it and Niall welcomes it. He brings it to Nina when it’s done, wrapped up in her favorite blanket and feet tucked under the pillows in the couch. Niall tries not to get to jealous of the couch, although they are taking his place of toe-warmer-upper.
“So. What movie do you wanna-”
“Okay, so here’s the thing,” she pauses, presumably to think, “You can’t scent me if you’re not in love with me,” she blurts, eyes blank, but he can see the tendons in her feet, knows she’s wiggling her toes anxiously under the couch. Aside from that, he doesn’t know where to begin, if he should profess his love now or turn on a movie and ignore what she’s saying. He switches on the television, slowly and turns over potential sentences on his tongue.
“If you don’t want me to scent you, Nina, then I won’t,” he settles on, careful and cautious, quiet and gentle. He quickly finds High School Musical 3, the perfect kind of melancholy for the situation and skips to the treehouse scene. Nina remains silent next to him until Troy starts to sing.
“Did you make bread, too?” she asks, quiet and timid, voice tight and sore.
“Yeah, baby, let me go get it,” he mutters, nearly to himself and blushes wildly at his stupidity in word choice. He comes back to the sound of absent minded scratching against skin, the sight of goosebumps and redness on the back of Nina’s forearms. She’s watching intently a small frown on her face as Troy and Gabriella stare into the sky. He pulls the air and notices the unconscious underlying call for help and comfort and promptly scurries to the couch.
“Nina,” he says, clear and alpha, and watches as she stops scratching, eyes clearing until she’s looking directly at him and her waterline fills, unbeknownst to her, with tears. He picks her quickly up off the couch and walks behind her into his room, hands braced on her elbows as she’s ushered limply to Niall’s room. He walks to his closet with her between his arms, reaches above her to pull down her favorite hoodie, and pulls it over her head, gently, tenderly. He hates the fact she’s wearing short shorts, the kind that make her complain incessantly about wedgies, so he pulls out her favorite pajama pants and places them on the bed. He places her on the bed next to them and pulls back the covers as she watches, slowly, as if from a distance.
It’s when she’s finally tucked under the covers, comfy pants on that she speaks, “What about the movie,” she says, dry and timid, like she’s scared Niall will think her stupid. Maybe it’s her last ditch attempt at normalcy, a joke that falls flat, but Niall can’t distinguish her tone and so he says, “You can watch it on my laptop? And I’ll reheat your soup, too, alright?” He just barely refrains from saying baby, realizes what he was going to say and cuts himself off before he can. She nods and tries to give him a smile, eyes focusing again.
When he comes back, she seems more coherent, a furrow between her brow like she’s thinking something through. She blinks it away when he brings her soup and bread, like she’s sick and dying.
“I’m not sick and dying,” she tells him, dry. It make him chuckle from where he sits on the side of the bed, doing his very best to not reach out and touch, rub her shin, and hold onto her toes, lay his head on her tummy- anything. She looks frail, too, eating the soup, like she’s ill, but she soon remedies that when she takes the first bite of soup and bread, groaning low in her throat, guttural, and shoves more in her mouth.
“Stop making good food, I’m only thicc for so long before I’m fat,” she chastises him through a mouthful of food.
“Honey, you wish you were thicc,” he jokes back, a small smile and teasing creeping into his voice. He watches amusedly as indignation creeps across her face. She just raises her eyebrows at him and continues eating like boy, you know what you did wrong. He falls back on the bed after a while, tired of looking anywhere else but her, tired of pretending to occupy himself while she eats. She sets the bowl aside and lays back against the pillows, scooting her toes under his butt even though the barrier of the covers. She whispers to him, “I can’t talk to you, right now,” she starts, scaring the shit out of Niall before she pauses to take a breath and continues, “Because it’ll all come out wrong.” And he can almost hear her close her eyes.
When Nina wakes, it’s to the warm grey of dusk and the protective placement of Niall’s hand on her foot. Even through the sheets and covers, she can feel his alpha safety. She feels significantly better, knots of unease loosening in her back and jaw unclenching easily as she yawns. She feels less vulnerable somehow, neck able to be exposed to the air without second-guessing herself, fingers unlocking from their anxious curl. She also feels comfortably full, although the comfortably may have to be remedied. There’s no way Niall is getting off the hook of making her more food. She’ll pretend she’s unwell if she really needs to, play into his protective side.
“Excuse me, Niall, if you’re quite finished sleeping,” he jerks up groggily, “Louis?” and Nina erupts into a fit of giggles. A slow smile appears on his face, blue eyes twinkling at her, soft and sleepy.
“Feeling better?” he asks her, tentative, but unable to keep his alpha worry at bay any longer. She swallows, embarrassed at her body’s unfortunate biology and nods, wishing she could summon a joke and at the same time, knowing Niall would cut right through it.
“Yeah?” Niall confirms, “Need anymore food?”
A crooked smile squishes half of her face, she knows Niall so well. She shakes her head.
“No?” he echoes, kind.
“A talk, though, would be nice,” she breathes out, nervous and feigning nonchalance. He blinks a couple of times, eyebrows furrowing and nods. She scents underlying nervousness and denies the urge to climb into her alpha’s lap and calm him.
She thinks about the scenting though, and the song, and then thinks about his indifference when they’re out at clubs, his easy laugh when she hugs him and stays right where she is.
“You’re stupid,” she starts out, maybe not the best starting sentence, but it startles a laugh out of Niall and an agreeing nod. She stops after that though, trying to collect her thoughts, think of where to begin. He stays silent for a while before prompting her, “Care to elaborate, on that,” and she smiles gratefully.
“You- You don’t.” she huffs, “You don’t care when we go to pubs,” she begins. He looks confused.
“I’m just. I’m confused because-” she stops. She doesn’t really need to know why Niall is indifferent when she’s dancing up against an alpha, strong and sturdy who circles his hands obsessively around her, nothing like Niall’s gentle touch and warm smile.
“You can’t scent me if you’re not in love with me,” she says again, and doesn’t look to see his reaction before she stands up and begins to pace the room.
“What makes you think I’m not in love with you?”
Nina turns around slowly, confused and trapped. Trapped in all the arguments she was going to make, are you leading me on? Is your alpha confused? Do you not know what you’re doing? She’s at a loss for words. She fishmouths and he backtracks, “I mean-” he swallows, “I mean,” he begins, probably with no idea of what he’s going to say. And she interrupts him, “In love with me ?”
“Yeah, I mean, who else would I be in love with? Louis?” he asks, nervously laughing as he watches her confused face.
“But that doesn’t make any sense. I’m in love with you ,” she says trying to add it all up and failing.
“Really?” he asks, voice high, surprise evident on his face.
“You can’t be in love with me, though,” she continues on, pacing and staring at the floor, almost talking to herself.
“Why not?” he asks, incredulous and confused and wild, nearly. He can feel the anxiousness coming off of her in waves, the confusion and self doubt.
“You don’t- You don’t. Love me.” she chokes out, broken words and confused, “You’re- you’re. You don’t care when I’m,” Niall senses shame in the air for some reason, watches as she closes in on herself, “When I dance with other alphas,” and just the thought of it makes anger well up, deep in his chest. Practice keeps it there, concealed by a bubble of alpha control.
“I’m not- I don’t have the right to care about about, about that. I can’t- Literally, if you were anywhere near me when you- you- you know, like. You would know, like I only have so much control of my pheromones, jesus christ, any other alpha would probably die. Literally, you would cry. It’s bad, Nina, it’s really bad,” he assures her, rambling on, hoping it’s not too much, still unsure of her feelings.
“ No, ” she’s absolutely shocked.
“ Yes! ” He insists, laughing, “I do! Literally all the time! Do I need to work on my murder-alpha-possessive-glare?”
Nina goes red, and attempts a casual laugh, instead letting out a squeak. Niall’s alpha flashes brightly with pride, and he finds himself puffing his chest, smirking. Nina just rolls her eyes and laughs.
“Dumb, possessive alpha,” she says, and swats him on the chest. He catches her wrist and encircles its entirety with his hand, watches as she melts into his chest and immediately feels bad.
“Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to-” she interrupts him, shaking her head into his chest.
“You love me, you stupid dummy,” she murmurs, and he can feel the warmth of her breath against his chest, tickles his skin with her words.
“Yeah,” he breathes, pressing his lips to her hair.
“And, and, and. And I love you back,” she says, “Even harder than you, cause you’re a wuss,” she whispers. He balks indignantly.
“Uh? Not true, you little shit, I love you very much more than you love me cause you’re a big fat wuss,” he responds, squeezing her tighter. It makes her laugh into his chest.
“Prove it, bitch,” she says, and looks up at him, chin resting on his chest.
“Fine,” he says testily, mocking, and bends down, pressing his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. She’s shocked for a second, eyes closed before she opens them wide eyed. He smiles nervously at her while her expression is still blank aside from disbelief.
“You… ” she trails off while Niall smiles at her, “fucking pussy,” she finishes, laughing at Niall’s indignant, shocked, amused face. She tears away from him when he opens his mouth to speak, and he lets out a squawk.
“Excuse me!” he yells into the hall where she’s run out and into the kitchen.
“You’re gonna fucking get it,” he grits out, barely holding back laughter when she turns around and flashes a smile at him. He catches her in front of the couch and pounces, landing them both on it with a satisfying oomph . It smells like Nina and warmth and home, there, where she sleeps (not anymore, he thinks, if anyone even tries to get Nina out of his bed he rip their hands off their wrists, probably. maybe).
“Such a dumb alpha,” she says, fond, shaking her head and raising her hands to touch his face, but flinching away first like maybe she’s not allowed to. He growls playfully, scrunching his nose at her while she laughs. He picks her up again, hands on her lower back, places her toes on his feet and walks them back to his room. It’s some sort of alpha need, possession maybe, or the urge to protect, the need to hide her away in his room, surround them in their combined scents. He throws her on the bed, listening to her indignant squawk with a loud laugh as he collapsed onto the bed with her.
He cradles his head to her tummy, presses his nose to her stomach, blissfully takes in her smell.
“Will you sing that song for me?” she asks suddenly, soft and gentle. The smile slides away and he buries his face in her stomach, shaking his head like a little boy. She laughs above him.
“Why not?” she laughs, petting his hair and listening as he purrs. He props his head up, resting his chin on her stomach.
“It’s sad,” he says wide eyed and honest. She frowns down at him.
“Why are you sad, dumb alpha boy?”
He pouts up at her, “ ‘M not sad,” he responds. She flicks his lip and gives him an unimpressed look.
“I’m gonna write a new song,” he insists, petulant, “And it’s not gonna be so sad this time,” he tells her, like she should be impressed. She just smiles.
She wakes up to him scenting her again, even in his sleep and she shudders into it, rolling over and pressing her nose to his neck. Because she’s allowed to do things like that now, things like kissing and scenting and overly romantic cuddling, things like sleeping together. Things like nuzzling sleepily into that amazing alpha scent, pressing small kisses to his neck, tongue slipping out leaving bits of herself on his skin. She laughs into his neck suddenly, happiness rising in her chest like a balloon or a bubble or something of the like- something ready to burst, bubble from her throat and between her throat and out onto Niall’s neck.
He wakes up then and she smiles into his neck.
“Mornin’” he grumbles, all gravel and vowels, and his strong Irish accent.
“Good morning,” she whispers into his neck.
“Having fun over there?” he questions, dry and amused, maybe. She nods, and bites away a smile, teeth scraping against the warmth of his neck, unblemished. She can tell he hasn’t opened his eyes yet, and she’s glad he hasn’t. There’s something terribly vulnerable about unadulterated happiness.
“You smell nice,” she says, irrevocably honest with the power of faceless confessions.
“‘Nice’, huh?”
She nods again, eagerly.
“Well, then, I guess you smell nice, too,” and he presses a kiss to her forehead.
Niall’s alpha is content while they roll around in bed, with his omega comfortable safe and happy in his arms. She’s absolutely glowing in his hold, purring with his praise and touch, and it feels him with pride, calmness, happiness. He’s thinking in bed, watching her smile and blush under his gaze when he thinks of it.
“You know I’m gonna have to take you to Ireland now,” he tells her, smile quickly wiping off her face.
“No,” she breathes, shock evident on her face.
“No. You’re kidding.”
He shrugs at her and looks to his side.
“You’re fucking with me,” she says. He furrows his brows at her, like shut the fuck up dummy what are you talking about.
“Ireland.”
He nods.
“Ireland where everyone talks,” she tries to sufficiently describe it, a strangled noise escaping her throat, “like you. A whole country- a whole goddamn fucking jesus christing country ,”
Niall looks at her, squinting his eyes in confusion.
“Where everyone- literally everyone. You walk to the grocery store, Irish accent, you walk to the dentist, Irish accent. You take a fucking piss, GUESS WHAT. A FUCKING IRISH ACCENT.”
Niall begins laughing then, he really chose the stupidest omega to fall in love with.
“You think I’m kidding,” she starts, “But I am full well serious, Niall Horan. I am full well serious, young man,” she jumps on him from where she’d foolishly decided to sit up.
“Ireland,” she says again, “Motherfuck,” and promptly plops the back of her head on Niall’s chest.
It’s on the flight to Ireland, Nina conked out beside him, mouth wide open, that Niall opens up his notebook and begins to write. He thinks of when they first met, tentative and shy. She was absolutely bonkers at the start, but beautiful, even then he couldn’t stay away. He kind of knew, though, with the way she looked back at him, easy and kind when she was always looking at everyone else with certainty, challenging. He’d known he was going to fall in love with her from the beginning, seen her across the room and knew immediately that she would be the death of him.
She was just the kind of girl, with the dimples and the curls, and the mischievous tapping of her fingers. She’d met his eyes, though, and softened, gave him one of those smiles, crooked and sincere, like hey, what can you do.
He remembers when they formed the band, ambitious and excited, big smiles all around. She’d flashed her teeth at him when he seemed pessimistic and growled playfully when he just shrugged at her suggestion.
“You’ve got to write us songs,” she’d said, cocky and sure.
“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” he’d asked, eyebrows raised, unimpressed. They were fresh out of college, and Niall’s heart freshly broken. Nostalgia and old age had caught up to him at a ripe age of 21 and he could only watch on, amused while Nina bounced through life, ever so hopeful for no apparent reason.
“Because,” she’d said simply, “I don’t want anyone else,” she’d let that hang in the air for a bit, before scrunching her nose and sticking her tongue out at him. He’d scoffed and rolled his eyes, “You really know how to sway a man, eh?” She’d nodded, satisfied and smug.
“So, will you?” she asked, cheery and naive, gave him a big toothy smile. He rolled his eyes at her and nodded
.
He remembers their first performance, too. Some carnival in the city and he remembers driving her there with her bouncing leg and nervous hair adjusting. He’d sat silently in the drivers seat, listened as she hummed frantically to herself.
He could feel the anxiousness rolling off her in waves, distracting him and shaking his fingers on the steering wheel. He’d pulled over, finally, endlessly distracted and scared he might veer them off course he continued driving too long. He’d started to become sensitive to her emotions, able to detect the smallest change in her broadcasting recently, and didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.
She’d snapped her neck over to look at him, leg stilling.
“What are you doing,” she’d said, worried and anxious and nervous, nervous, “Niall, we’re gonna be late, please.”
He continued to pull over while she talked, putting the car in park, “Niall, really if you have to piss there’s a water bottle in the back-”
“Calm down.” he told her, alpha and sure, steady and calm. She’d stopped, like she’d been flicked between the eyes, shoulders dropped and eyebrows unfurrowed.
“You’re alright,” he’d assured her, “You’ve practiced. You know what to do. You’re perfect- they’re gonna love you,” he’d said, determined and certain. She tooks a deep, shaky breath, put her hand on her chest and felt her heartbeat. He felt her nervousness lessen, and then rise again.
“Nina, you’re fine,” and put his hand on her forearm, close to her wrist, the sentiment of the gesture but not quite. He squeezed a bit and turned his pheromones to calm, reassuring, gentle. He watched as she took another breath, and turned the car on.
“Don’t be such a dummy,” he’d added and smiled when she snorted at him.
“Fuck you,”
“You know I can just turn us right back around, I’ll leave you here if I have to,” he threatened and watched as she gasped at him.
“You wouldn’t dare .”
“I wouldn’t,” he said simply, “I’ll be watching the whole time, so if you get nervous just look for me and I’ll pull a face or summat, yeah?” he looks over at her and grins, waits for a response while he glances back at the road. She nods.
“Yeah,”
He looks down and starts to write, Looking back, through changes, where we started from. He remembers when he met her, the second time they hung out, laughing over chips. She’d been hyperactive, a ball of energy, sarcastic and mean, and she somehow made it charming. He thinks about the first time he’d seen her serious, sitting in the corner at a party- the first one he’d gone with her to.
He’d grabbed a beer, then, maybe his fourth of the night, second in an hour, and looked around for Nina. It was an alpha thing, platonic enough, he assured himself. He routinely searched houses for Louis, needed to know where he was like an insatiable scratch, he told himself. He found her curled up by the bathroom door, criss-cross applesauce, back completely rigid and looking right uncomfortable.
“Hey, Nina,” he said cheerfully, pleasantly buzzed, warm and comfy as the vision of her blurred. Her beauty bled into the rest of the world and he thought he might like to see her like that for the rest of forever, changing the whole world around her and making it just as beautiful as her.
“Hi,” she muttered, he thinks. He couldn’t really hear over the sounds of partying, the faint slow songs playing in the background. He leaned against the wall then and tried not to worry too much.
“Having fun there on the floor?” he’d asked, doing his best to casually asses her emotional wellbeing. At that point, she didn’t know him well enough to detect the poorly concealed concern. She just nodded pathetically in response. He’d caught a whiff of pity and self suffering then, and resisted the urge to scoff at the air. Nina? Not having a good time at a party? He slid down the wall, bumping his knee with hers.
She was quiet now, and he didn’t know what to do with that. He usually took her cue and followed whatever she said. Even with her as an omega, and him as an alpha, he’d blindly fell at her feet and trailed after her, indulged her and all her wants. He didn’t know what to do now other than worry.
“I’m not,” she started, “I’m not a big… party person, surprisingly enough,” and held tightly onto her ankles.
“No?” he asked, innocently enough and wondered if he’d ever understand her. Probably not, he’d thought back then. She’d slowly shook her head in response.
“Why not,”
She shrugged, “They all… they’re all talking to each other and,” she sighs, “I don’t know. I just wanna watch.”
“Okay,” he’d said simply, and sat and waited with her. Until he had to get up and take a piss, that is.
It was strange, the first time he’d seen her in that light, nervous and small and he remembers how it changed his view of her, made him a bit more protective. She’d always shrugged him off with a fond smile when he worried, asked too many questions. Dumb alpha, she’d said, and pushed his worries away. He wonders why he didn’t ask her out, that first time. But then again, he never was one for asking out strangers, and that’s what she was at the beginning, even if it never felt like it. Don’t know about you, but I knew it wasn’t wrong. He’d been holding out, though.
“Alphas are stupid,” she’d told him a thousand times, “And I’m going to kill them all.”
Niall laughed, “Do it. Put us out of our misery.” She laughed back, and knocked her head against his shoulder.
“I’m going to die alone and I’m fine with it, to be quite honest,” she shrugged and he looked down at her, unimpressed. He knew her well enough now to realize she definitely did not want to die alone if the suggested column on her netflix was anything to go by (rom coms and rom coms and rom coms and rom coms).
“I’m just- ugh,” she banged her head against his shoulder again, forehead first this time, “God hates me,” she moaned miserably at him. He laughed at her, “Why?”
“I hate emotions, ugh, I wanna die. I can’t do it, I can’t!” She’d declared hands thrown up in the air and he’d tucked that away, remembered it.
He hummed to himself, you know I kept a place for you in my mind and scribbled it out in the dark of the airplane. He watched as everyone around him slept, kept the private smile to himself.
“You’re a good alpha,” she told him, patted his chest sure and only a little condescending. He puffed his chest out absurdly and hmphed at her.
“I’d date you,” she shrugged, nonchalant and it made him laugh, a loud surprised, truly amused laugh. She smiled, satisfied, and continued walking.
And I know you did the same ‘cos you’re just that kind. He thinks, if we knew all along, why did it take so long? He looks over at her, laughs and thinks, We’ve known since we were young, so why did it take so long? She’s got her hand on his leg, fist curled into the fabric of his sweatpants even as she sleeps. He writes, you know you make me feel loved. He smiles at her and thinks of the first time he’d hung out with her friends, the first time the band got together.
“Niall, this is Gerry. He’s Irish, you’ll like him,” Nina said and got a laugh out of the two of them. Niall was nervous enough as it was, presenting his songs to a band for the first time. They’d been together for a while, at least, done a couple of performances. He’d seen two, the one at the carnival comprised entirely of covers, and one at the bar where Nina worked. She was the lead singer, and she was amazing. Niall tried not to think about it too much, lest he combust with love right there on the spot. He was past the point of denying his love for Nina.
The band fit together so well, was the thing, and Niall was just going to come in here and impose on that, apparently.
“Niall’s got some songs for us today,” she told them, a proud smile on her face as she nodded towards the other boys and a more private one when she looked at him.
“And he can sing, too,” she told them, smug and satisfied and proud. He rolled his eyes and shook his head slowly, “Not like you, Nina,” he sing-songed and watched as she rolled her eyes back at him.
“Cool,” said Gerry, “Let’s get into da jams,” and sat down.
Niall thinks about it, everywhere he goes with Nina, every time she introduce him to a new group. They’re quite the pair, the two of them, social butterflies, always talking and meeting new people. It’s always been quite surface level though with all of them, never really a connection, despite his skilfull listening. He’d always felt in line with her, though, never had to be social if he didn’t want to. Everyone always asked him what was wrong if he wasn’t talking, but she never did. She just sat close and leaned her head on his shoulder, looked at him from across the room, winked. Sometimes she just left him alone. You make me feel like I belong.
He remembers looking at her one day when she’d been staying at his house for a week and neither one of them had stopped to acknowledge it. She was just there stealing clothes from his closet and doing her own laundry at his flat. The whole place smelled like the two of them, homey and warm. It didn’t seem like she had any intention of leaving and he had no intention of making her.
He looked at her, climbing onto his counter to reach the top of the cupboard where he’d put the cheez-its. He could never hide any snack from her, despite telling her they were his favorite from America, only got them once a year (he bought them in bulk, though, so she figured it was okay).
He yelled at her, “Oi!” and she nearly fell off the counter. She gave him a goofy grin, then, and snatched the cheeze its anyways, winked, and shoved a handful in her mouth and chewed charmingly at him. He was brutally in love with her and there was nothing to be done about it.
So if we knew all along, why did it take so long?