Chapter Text
In the long list of inconveniences that Louis' family had thrust upon him in his 25 years of life, this wedding was a significant one. It's not that the alpha didn’t want to marry. He had a rather positive opinion on romance all things considered, but the hand life had dealt him had worked really well at eroding his idealistic heart.
Which explains how he ended up here, half drunk, in a hidden alcove at his wedding reception with a very displeased omega, not at all doing anything close to what the movies show newly wed and excited couples doing in hidden spaces.
On the eve of his birthday, Louis’ parents had given him a gift, which was surprising considering they had never been the sort of family who did any meaningful gestures. Louis had been right to be suspicious.
It was a letter that contained pictures and details about the omega he would be marrying the coming summer. The alpha had been dreading this moment the second he graduated from university and got promoted from shadowing his father to actually working towards eventually, some day, (if he could ever manage to stand up to the man’s unrealistic and everchanging expectations) taking over the family business.
And so he had decided, in a brief bout of rebellion, that he would not be putting any effort at all in this deal. Because that’s exactly what it was; a deal his father had already signed and sealed with the Styles family. No matter what Louis did now he was going to get hitched to this random but beautiful (oh sue him. He had eyes okay?) omega so that his selfless and saint of a father could easily acquire the perfect piece of land for his new factory from the Styles.
When they did finally meet, Harry, youngest son of the chairman of Styles Industrial Trust, was exactly like the mild mannered and boring omegas Louis had interacted with at every company charity event. The kind who had been battered by tutors who essentially served as modern day finishing schools till they had no personality other than prim, proper, and demure.
By the time of the actual wedding, Louis had met the omega four times and formed the impression of someone gentle, if a bit unreadable. His father’s friends and colleagues had congratulated him with grins because Harry was pretty and composed. They’d also said rather regressive things about good breeding and careful preparation that louis had done his best to not react too sharply at. Still,he’s gotten a very particular pat on his back from his father who thought his reply was cutting and rude.
The ceremony was perfect by all accounts.
Louis knew this because his mother had cried. Not in the dabbing at your eyes with a handkerchief way she generally did at weddings, but at a certain pitch which meant that the flowers and lighting had been right.
Louis had stood at the altar, trying to look like a man who was exactly where he’d chosen to be. He knew how to play this part; had enough practice with his father’s dinners, board meetings, the life long practice of being a Tomlinson in a room full of people who were watching closely to see if you were as good as advertised.
The vows were the standard ones. Louis said them. Harry said them, eyes briefly downcast in the perfect picture of an omega who understood the gravity of the occasion. He had distantly noticed that Harry had very nice hands when the bonding ribbon was being tied.
Harry had smiled a smile distant enough to imply the appropriate shyness. Louis had smiled back, but he was already thinking about the drinks that would be served at the reception.
The east garden was brilliantly decorated and was flowing with champagne flutes. Louis worked the room efficiently, in order of importance, with enough warmth to register as genuine. His father’s associates first, then family, then the pleasant few people he actually wanted to talk to, who were largely his friends, already deep in drinks and making the evening significantly more bearable.
He checked on Harry periodically too. It felt like the correct thing to do.
Harry was always fine, talking to someone or accepting a compliment or smiling that calibrated smile, and louis would put a hand at his back for a moment as a present, attentive, and correct gesture, and Harry would smile up at him, exchange a few words, and louis would drift back to wherever he’d come from.
Fine, he thought each time. This is fine. This is exactly what it is supposed to be.
Harry had made sure the ceremony would be perfect.
He’d stood at the altar in his cream silk. Demure and docile, the picture of an omega who understood his role and had made peace with it. He’d said I do and accepted the bonding ribbon around his wrist without flinching. He’d smiled at louis tomlinson, his husband, God help him, with a warmth appropriate enough to satisfy both families.
Louis had smiled back, a little distracted, his mind seemingly somewhere else.
Harry had noted this. He had noted this like everything else over the four meetups they’ve had ever since his mother had dropped the bomb six months ago that he would be getting married.
He smiled through the reception. He clinked glasses, accepted the compliments on his dress. He let Louis' particularly archaic aunt hold his hand and tell him he smelled lovely, so sweet, what a treasure, what a find, and he said his thanks without once telling her exactly where she could shove her rude and impudent nose.
Louis drifted and laughed with his friends across the garden, seemingly enjoying himself. It made Harry a bit bitter, but he still smiled whenever the alpha came back occasionally to place a hand at the small of his back with the vague, dutiful energy of a man checking something off a list.
Harry was very good at smiling.
It was Louis' friends that did it. Technically. They had been loud and champagne warm and drifted over at some. The alpha had made introductions with easy confidence, and Harry had smiled charmingly and shaken hands.
And then one of them, the Irish one, Niall, had asked Harry something about his work.
And Louis had answered for him.
It hadn't been rude or dismissive, but cheerful and confidently incorrect. It had demonstrated to Harry that Louis had heard about his job as a textile conservator, heard the word “old” and stopped listening. The younger man understood as he heard the alpha tell his mates that his husband ‘worked with antiques’, that he had not retained a single thing Harry had told him across five months of formal dinners.
Niall glanced at Harry and asked a little uncertainly, “Is that right?”
Harry smiled, “Something like that.”
Louis had moved away to greet a different set of people.
Harry stood in his wedding dress on his wedding day and looked at his husband’s profile and felt the last thread of patience he’d been holding carefully for five months go completely slack.
He set his glass down, smoothed the front of his dress, and crossed the garden.
He gently touched Louis' elbow to get his attention and said, “Darling. Can I steal you for a moment?”