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"What... are you doing?"

Harry spun around, away from the mirror, holding up four shirts—two in each hand. Shirtless, in just a pair of trousers, he watched Niall scan over the room with a critical eye.

"I need your help choosing what to wear. I can't tell which top looks best with these pants."

Niall eyed him even more suspiciously. "...What are you getting dressed for?"

Harry threw the shirts on the bed with a dramatic flair, throwing his hands up in the air. "Can't you just help me choose?! I'm having a crisis. I need to know which top says I'm worth a million dollars but also totally willing to get destroyed in a hotel room after dinner."

Niall just stared at him, and then he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Do you really think this is a good idea?"

"Niall, focus." He pointed at the shirts. "White ruffles or black satin? Or red satin? Or pink silk with the cute pearl buttons? Or maybe-"

"Seriously. Pet, please." Niall grabbed his wrist, tugging until he was facing him and couldn't escape unless he really tried. "I think you're doing this as a form of self-destruction and I'm not going to just stand here and let you do it."

Harry avoided his eyes, looked down, and felt like a child being reprimanded by an adult. He pulled his arm away and stood up straighter. "This is my decision. I'm a single omega in my twenties and I should be able to go on a date whenever I want, with whoever I want, without you sassing me like you're my dad, because—newsflash—you're not!"

They stared at each other for a long, heated moment before Harry turned his chin and plucked the black shirt off the bed, running the smooth fabric between his fingers. A dark color to match his dark mood, that was what he would wear tonight. He slipped it on, fumbling with the buttons due to the fact that his fingers were shaking.

"I don't want you to get hurt," Niall said quietly.

"I'll be fine."

It was silent as Harry finished getting ready, aside from his rings clanking on the table as he scooped them up into his hands, even as Niall remained in the room, taking a seat on his bed. They'd spent the day together, watching another golf tournament, which basically meant that Harry made comments about every alpha he saw on TV and Niall laughed at his ridiculousness. The tried a new recipe for dinner, and it failed miserably, so they ended up with their fallback plan of takeout delivered straight to the apartment. And now Harry was getting ready to go out with an alpha, Michael, the one he'd had dinner with just before Niall introduced him to Louis.

He continued getting ready, pulling on his favorite pair of boots and touching up his hair with a curling wand. Niall watched the whole ritual passively, but Harry ignored him, too keen on having this one night to hopefully get over Louis. The last time he tried this was a bust, but he'd rushed into things too fast. Tonight would be different. Tonight would be better.

On his way out the door, Niall pulled him into a hug and held him to his chest in a protective gesture. "Keep me updated. Text me periodically, when you get to dinner, when you leave, and if anything goes wrong-"

Harry squeezed him tight, and then let go. "I will. Don't worry. I'll be fine."

The restaurant was on the other side of the city, so he took a cab, glad to escape the horrid weather. He didn't have a winter coat, so he shivered the whole way, pressing his hands between his thighs. By the time he got inside, he was a shivering icicle, teeth chattering but somehow able to cover it up for the sake of not looking like he was losing his sanity. He gave the name at the front podium and was eyed warily by the hostess before being led back through the opulent restaurant full of affluent people. Real affluent people, not the ones who tried too hard to appear wealthy, but the ones who didn't feel the need to try at all. The atmosphere was cool and sleek and Harry, after years of attending dinners at places just like this, felt like he was right where he was supposed to be. He was comfortable and confident, so at ease.

pretty please (with sugar on top) - larry stylinsonWhere stories live. Discover now