That bastard's smell is still there, and Louis hates himself with all he's got that the alpha's smell is inviting, making his mouth water and the insides of his thighs tremble. It makes his omega whine, a hurt whimper escaping his lips without his permission. He wants to find where the alpha is and bare his neck for the man to spread his smell on Louis more.

But his omega is stupid, and Louis is not that weak to give in to it. It's probably happening because he has never been touched so intimately from another alpha before. He hates that filthy animal even more now that it triggers that type of weakness in it. Inner omegas are built like that, wanting to give in to powerful alphas and let them take them. It's just... physical.

When he remembers the way he had to explain to his mum a few days prior why he smelled so overwhelmingly like an alpha, his cheeks had tinted pink. Catherine had given him a stern look at first, not believing that was all that had happened, but when she had seen the sincerity in her son's eyes she had given him a hug, assuring him that not all alphas were like that and that Louis made sure he never found a mate so disrespectful and sexist in the future.

The alpha's comment on omegas had made his blood boil. The hate that had ignited in him had been a fire that had taken a lot of taming. That has been the only reason he had never wanted to come back to Adora. The fury he had seen in the alpha's eyes when Louis had talked back makes his body shiver even now.

He walks slowly towards the window of his room, looking at the view; a whole unknown world out there that scares him to his bones, and renders him powerless. He feels so little in front of the problems that layer on his shoulders as a heavy veil that life has gifted to him. Silence and gloom have enveloped the whole city, and he looks at the breeze caressing the leaves of the tree in his house's yard.

The darkness of the night resembles that of his dream, and to his mind come back the piercing green eyes that have been ingrained in his memory for the past days. With a deep sigh, he turns back to his bed, fingers itching to scratch his neck again, but he contains himself and doesn't give in to it. He lays there, covering himself 'til it the blanket reaches his middle so he won't overheat through the night. As slumber comes to get him, he only hopes those vibrant emerald eyes will no longer haunt him for the rest of his sleep.

It's late in the afternoon when his mom gets back from the flower shop. He is reading The Picture of Dorian Grey again for the tenth time. It's one of his most favourite books, and the fact that it was written by an omega, Oscar Wilde, adds to it. He puts it down, folding the side of the page he left and turns his body to where his mother just entered the kitchen. She has yellow tulips in her hands, humming a melody Louis vaguely remembers from his childhood.

She smiles at him, kissing his cheek and walking towards the sink grabbing a vase under it. She fills it with water, and puts them in it, putting an aspirin inside the vase. She has always said that aspirin extends the longevity of the flowers. After she's done, she places the vase in the middle of the table, a creepy smile appearing on her face.

"Where did you get those flowers from?" Louis asks, snapping his mum out of her thoughts.

"Oh," Catherine clears her throat, "Uh... from the shop. Yep. Mary knows they're my favourite so she... um, let me take them... yeah."

He furrows his brows, not understanding why Catherine is so flustered all of a sudden but decides to shake it off and just let it be.

"Sit down, mum," he says gently, "I'll grab the kettle and make you some tea. You must be knackered."

Catherine nods, giving her son another peck on his cheek. "I'll go freshen up a bit."

He waits for his mum to get back from the bathroom, while her tea gets ready. Louis looks at the pile of newspapers on the side of the counter, releasing a heavy breath and squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds. Hopeless. That's how he feels with each day that passes.

FRAGRANCE | Larry StylinsonWhere stories live. Discover now