Blurred Lines || WOLF REWRITE || - 1
prompt: perspective of YN’s first heat before we explore the aftermath of Harry’s
word count: 4.5k
warnings: abo
an:
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—-
YN regrets ever calling Harry overprotective or overbearing.
This was officially, in their entire lives, the longest they had gone without seeing each other.
Before, the longest stretch apart had been the three days of YN’s heat, but now it was going on day six of his rut.
She had always heard that an alpha’s first rut could be unbearable, dragging out sometimes for more than a week.
She was really learning that lesson with each passing morning when she opened her front door and Harry wasn’t there waiting for her.
Instead, it was Niall, who had shown up every day in human form, clearly irritated at the task but unwilling to defy orders.
He hated having to shift back into school clothes, never saw the point, and had grumbled the very first morning about how ridiculous this was.
“I don’t need an escort,” YN had reminded him more than once, though the words felt fruitless, because no matter how much she protested, Niall still showed up.
It felt unnecessary—overkill, even.
She wasn’t in any danger, not walking the short distance from her house to school, and she hated knowing that Niall was being forced to go out of his way, dragged from the estate each morning just to play the role Harry normally filled with ease.
The worst part wasn’t Niall’s presence, though.
It was the absence of Harry.
Every day that she opened the door to see someone else standing there, her chest sank a little heavier.
Niall was a lot.
He talked incessantly, filling every second with chatter until YN thought her head might explode open from the sound of his voice.
She was convinced he spoke from the moment he woke until he finally went to bed, never pausing long enough to breathe - let alone chill.
That, she suspected, was half the reason he avoided his wolf form—because when he was shifted, he couldn’t yap on and on.
She was almost certain the pack preferred him as a wolf for that exact reason, because at least then there was peace and quiet, if only for a little while.
“Believe me, I had to get up twenty-five minutes early. I think it’s fucking stupid too,” Niall huffed one morning, dragging his feet even though his stamina was fine.
Despite being fit, he moved like someone was hauling him against his will, each step heavier than the last.
“Then why are you?” YN slowed her pace so she wouldn’t leave him behind.
Walking with Harry was different—his stride was long, steady, purposeful, and even when he was in wolf form she never had to think about adjusting her speed, he had to slow down to keep her pace.
With Niall, it felt like babysitting.
Niall shot her a look, as though she had asked the most idiotic question in the world, “Alpha’s commands, obviously.”
Her brow furrowed at that, “What?”
He rolled his eyes with enough force she thought they might get stuck, “Harry’s orders. The second he realized he was going into rut, he barked them at me with his alpha voice, nearly busted my fuckin’ eardrums. Told me I had to walk you to and from school every day until he could again. Didn’t matter if you wanted me to or not. Didn’t matter if I wanted to or not. Alpha commands aren’t optional.”
YN had no argument for that.
She really didn’t mind Niall walking her, not when she thought about it logically, but it wasn’t Harry, and that was the problem.
With every day that passed, the absence weighed heavier, a dull ache that pressed at her chest like a constant reminder that something vital was missing.
Even without a formal mating bond, she was certain she and Harry had formed something else, something spiritual, something neither of them could easily explain.
A spiritual bond was not the same as a mate bond—it wasn’t even necessarily romantic but it was undeniable.
It happened when an alpha and omega had been tied to one another for so long, in so many ways, that the bond formed regardless of ceremony or ritual.
Almost like a common law marriage of shorts where time equaled commitment without it being formal.
It was as natural as breathing.
Harry and YN had never told anyone of their suspicions.
They both knew what kind of chaos it would unleash if they did.
Her parents would panic, his parents would apply pressure, and suddenly they would be staring down a future neither of them had been ready to face yet.
It wasn’t that Harry’s parents didn’t like YN.
In truth, they adored her.
They had always seen her as a steady comfort for their son, someone who soothed his more volatile tendencies and cared for him in a way any others could.
YN was Harry’s person over blood, over pack, over anybody or anything.
In fact, they already thought she would be the perfect omega for him but that was in a different reality, one where Harry wasn’t the heir to the pack, destined to lead one day.
His parents’ approval of YN didn’t outweigh their duty to the bloodline, their insistence that Harry’s omega would need to come from a strong lineage.
Ideally, one tied to another pack leader’s family.
An omega whose father had led before, or who still did, strengthening alliances through blood with pedigree.
Alpha leaders did not bond for love.
It was strategy.
It was evident in Harry’s parents - the constant underlying tension, the emotional distance between the two, and the bond was so weak sometimes Harry wondered if it really existed.
YN’s family didn’t fit those requirements.
Her parents were both betas with no history of alphas in their lineage, no prestige or bloodline to offer the council.
It wasn’t a mark against them, but it wasn’t acceptable for future leaders.
YN tried not to dwell on that truth, but lying to herself was impossible.
She thought about it constantly.
Every time the thought crossed her mind, her stomach churned, the ground seemed to tilt beneath her, and she felt like she might be physically sick.
Because the idea of Harry giving all of the devotion, all of the fierce protectiveness, all of the relentless attention he had always reserved for her - giving it to another omega - was unbearable.
She told herself not to think about it.
She told herself she was being foolish but the fear gnawed at her anyway, and these six long days of separation only sharpened the edge of it.
His rut meant the council would begin pressing harder, whispering about the necessity of him finding a mate, preparing lists of suitable omegas from prestigious bloodlines, carefully selecting the ones they thought might suit him.
It was the next step in his life, whether either of them wanted it or not.
It was the sixth day without him, the sixth day without his presence, without his scent, without even the faintest taste of his attention.
YN felt herself slipping into something low and heavy, a dull depression that came from her alpha not tending to her needs the way he always had.
If they were mates, she would have been with him, helping him through the rut, grounding him in the way only an omega could.
The way only she could.
She didn’t usually allow herself to think of him as “her alpha.”
She tried not to entertain fantasies of what it would be like to be bonded, to belong to him in that way.
As the days dragged on and the bond between them pulled tighter in his absence, it became harder to stop those thoughts.
Harder to ignore the craving.
Harder to imagine surviving the future she feared most because if the day came when Harry wasn’t at her door, when he wasn’t walking beside her, when he was pouring all that fierce attention into someone else, she didn’t think she would survive it.
She didn’t think she could exist in a world where that kind of bond could be broken.
It felt impossible.
It felt like something that would split her in two, something that would shatter her into a million irreparable pieces.
Because Harry wasn’t just any alpha.
He was hers—even if no one else in the world recognized it .
+
YN hadn’t told anyone what went on during her heat.
The only person she ever told everything to was Harry, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about this.
She couldn’t tell him that he had been the sole fixation of her body and her mind, that it was three full days of being consumed by him, of her brain refusing to latch onto anything else.
He had been plastered behind her eyelids, the empty missing weight in her nest, the relentless ache that nothing and no one could soothe.
Every time he dropped something off—an item saturated with his scent, she went wild for it.
She pressed her face into the fabric until her nose was dry, rolled herself up with it in her bed until every inch of her was coated in him, tucked it into her nest.
The comfort never lasted long.
She wore the scent down too quickly, rubbed it into her skin and her sheets until it was almost gone within hours.
By the end of her heat, she was desperate and furious in equal measure.
She had shredded one of his sweatshirts in a fit of frustrated rage, the fabric torn into strips on her bedroom floor because it had stopped smelling like him too soon.
Harry never said anything about the ripped sweatshirt.
He never mentioned how often she was requesting items, though she could tell he knew.
By the final day, he had adjusted without asking, leaving her bigger things, heavier things—blankets, pillows, anything that might hold his scent longer.
When he brought his own comforter, still drenched with the days he had slept beneath it, she had nearly sobbed with relief.
That had been what pulled her through the worst of it.
It was layered thick with him, with the way he slept, with the careless way his body coated everything he touched.
She had buried herself into it until her lungs felt full with him, until she was sure she had absorbed every molecule into her bloodstream.
Afterward, it had been hard to look him in the eye.
Not because he had done anything wrong, but because she had.
She had spent three days lost to filthy thoughts, unraveling with scenarios she couldn’t confess, her imagination spinning images of him stripped bare, stretched out, taking her apart in every way she craved.
It was hard to reconcile those images with the Harry who stood in front of her now—her best friend, her constant, the boy who had always been hers in a way that was supposed to be innocent.
It hardly seemed innocent when she imagined him whispering sweet things, murmuring that she could take it when he pressed his knot in, filling her full.
Her attitude had been short since then, her mood fogged with the residue of her heat.
She wasn’t as hormonal anymore, not the way she had been when her body was in overdrive, and her sex drive had dulled into nothing - the memories lingered, and she didn’t know how to shake them off.
Harry had insisted she come over anyway.
He had demanded it, really, telling her she needed rest, that she owed him a day of cuddling, movies, and snacks at the estate after shutting him out.
She had grumbled when he tugged her into a hug, rolling her eyes as though she didn’t want it, but it was only for show.
She melted into him the second his arms closed around her, because there was no fighting that kind of comfort.
He had cooed at her, the sound low and rumbling, a purr settling in his chest as he ran his nose along her jaw.
It made her heart stutter, her breath catch, because it was everything she had wanted during those three days of torment.
Then, too suddenly, he pulled back.
His eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed a deep red, and he took a stumbling step away from her.
“Sorry,” He muttered, his voice rough and strangled, “I shouldn’t have done that.”
YN blinked at him, confusion carving deep lines into her expression, “Why?”
Harry coughed, shifting on his feet.
He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
His hand shoved through his curls, dragging them out of his face in a nervous habit she hardly ever saw in him.
Harry didn’t get nervous.
Harry was unshakable, composed even when angry, but now he looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.
“Nothing,” He said quickly, voice too high, too clipped, “You just still smell… strong.”
His words cracked in the middle, like they had snagged in his throat.
He cleared it, forcing a casual tone that didn’t land, “I’ve got to use the bathroom. Go pick a movie, pup.”
He left before she could say anything.
At some point in the future, she would look back on that moment with fondness.
She would understand why he had reacted that way, what had been coursing through him when her scent hit him like a wave.
But in the moment, none of that mattered.
All she felt was the sting of rejection.
It burned sharper than she expected, hollowing her chest with the thought that maybe he didn’t like it, maybe he found the scent cloying instead of delicious.
It wasn’t logical, but it lodged itself anyway.
So when Harry came back, his face carefully blank, his body language pretending nothing had happened, he was surprised to find her curled up tightly in the corner of the sofa.
She was wound into the smallest ball she could manage, knees tucked to her chest, her head tipped against the armrest, making herself as unapproachable as possible.
There was no space for him to sit close, no room for the cuddling he had demanded.
She had put herself out of reach.
Harry paused in the doorway, confusion furrowing his brow as his gaze flicked from her to the empty cushion beside her.
He looked like he couldn’t understand why she had moved, why she was shutting him out, and YN hated that he didn’t see it.
Hated that she couldn’t explain it, because explaining would mean admitting just how badly she wanted him, and that wasn’t something she could give in to.
So she stayed there, arms locked around her knees, while Harry stood silently, wondering what he had done to make her upset.
Sometimes Harry didn’t realize that he was growling, because he wasn’t doing it on purpose but there was a low, displeased rumble emitting from the back of his throat as he walked around the couch.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Harry asked after a moment.
YN was still mindlessly scrolling through the movies.
There were too many to select from, and she wasn’t even really paying attention to what was flashing by her on the screen anyway.
“No,” YN replied stubbornly, eyes darting over to the side to get a reaction, and his lip curled upward automatically - flashing his canines at her.
“If you’re going to be rude, will you at least give me a cuddle? Haven’t seen you in days,” Harry said accusingly, like it was her fault she had gone through heat.
It felt weird to talk about with him, and now that he had reacted so negatively to her scent, it felt all the more awkward—at least for her.
YN wanted to make a snarky comment, to ask why he’d even want to cuddle when she apparently smelled so awful.
But after days of being away, days of only wanting him, there was no amount of stubbornness in her body that could resist him, could resist the need to be close to him.
YN’s throat tightens, regretful that she let her emotions get the best of her.
But the thing was, they skated around all these topics—they never talked about mates or dating or bonding, because they didn’t want to step into what was a serious conversation.
So instead, they paraded around under the guise that they were just friends.
Friends—hell, even people with spiritual bonds didn’t act the way they do.
YN ends up curled into Harry, her legs thrown over his lap, tucked into his side like she belongs there, and the movie is only twenty minutes in when Harry laughs softly.
The sound pulls YN from her daze.
A daze where she’s been nudging into his neck like a needy pup, pressing closer and closer without even realizing it.
Her face has been practically smushed against his scent gland, her nose dragging along the curve of his throat.
She thinks she might have been half-asleep, dozing in that strange place between unconsciousness and reality, lulled by the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart against her cheek.
She realizes with horror that she must have made some type of noise to draw out his laugh—probably a pathetic whine and if she could die of embarrassment right now, it would be a gift.
She hadn’t expected it to be this difficult to hide how she was feeling, to mask the craving that still lingered after her heat.
“Didn’t know you’d turn into such a needy puppy,” Harry teases, but his tone is softer than his words.
His hand is heavy against her thigh, not pushing her away but holding her in place, and the weight of it sends her stomach tumbling.
YN stiffens, her voice quiet, muttered more to herself than to him, “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here today… it was probably stupid.”
Harry stills immediately.
The laugh dies in his chest, his body going rigid beneath her.
Slowly, he turns his head.
“Why the hell would you say that?” His voice is low, clipped, and there’s no amusement left in it.
She swallows hard, staring at the movie she hasn’t been watching, “Because—after my heat, it just feels like… maybe I should’ve given us more space. My parents already warned me, they knew it was a bad idea.”
Harry exhales sharply, almost a scoff, and shifts so she has no choice but to glance up at him.
His jaw is tight, his mouth pulled into a frown.
“A bad idea?” He repeats, the words biting, “That’s what you think this is? Me asking you to come here, wanting to spend time with you—you think that’s a mistake?”
YN feels heat rush to her cheeks, “That’s not what I meant—”
"Watch the movie,” Harry gruffs out.
The words are clipped, forced through clenched teeth, and though he isn’t using his alpha timbre, it hovers there, right at the edge.
His body is rigid beside her, his grip on the sofa cushion tightening, knuckles pale with strain.
His scent shifts with him, bitter and sharp, filling the space between them with disappointment that stings more than any shouted words.
It tells her exactly how much she has upset him.
YN’s throat tightens, regret already building heavy in her chest.
But no matter whether they were mated or not, her alpha was mad at her, he was hurt by her, and that made her want to crawl out of her own skin.
They were still as close as before—that was the thing.
Harry hadn’t shoved her off.
He would never do that, no matter how upset he was but his body language was different now, tense in a way that told her he was holding himself too carefully still.
He had always been better at controlling his reactions than she was, better at locking his emotions inside until no one could read them.
YN, on the other hand, was overly emotional, and she knew it.
She kept blaming it on the aftermath of her heat, but the truth was that it really did come down to that.
She could practically feel the fluctuation of her hormones, her body struggling to reset after three days of hell.
It made everything feel sharper, heavier, harder to manage.
So it wasn’t a surprise when the tears started.
The minute her throat closed up, the minute the burn reached her nose, she knew it was going to happen.
She managed to hold back a full-on sob, but she couldn’t stop the way her shoulders began to shake, couldn’t stop the small, broken sniffle that slipped out.
It felt impossible to deal with Harry being upset with her right now.
Her chest ached like she might combust, like her whole body couldn’t survive the weight of him being angry.
Harry never could stay mad for long.
The shift in him was subtle at first—his breath catching, his jaw loosening, the rigid set of his shoulders relaxing inch by inch.
Then his head turned, and he pressed his nose into her temple, nuzzling her as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
His lips brushed against her cheekbone in a ghost of a kiss, not quite firm enough to be one, but enough to make her pulse stutter.
And then came the change in his scent.
It wasn’t back to normal, not the familiar richness she craved, but it was softer, warmer, less sharp.
It was the scent he only ever released for her when he was trying to comfort her.
It was Harry, pulling her back in, even after her words had cut him.
“I’m sorry,” YN whispers after a moment, her voice shaking with the effort to keep it steady, “I just… I feel like we’re off today.”
Her eyes are glossy, her lashes damp from the tears she’s been holding back.
Harry pulls back just enough to see her face, his brows knitting together, his jaw tight again but for an entirely different reason.
“We’re not off,” He says firmly, and there’s no hesitation in his voice, his thumb brushes against the corner of her eye, catching a tear before it can fall, “Don’t ever think that. Not with me.”
YN wants to believe him, but her chest still feels heavy, her heart pounding with the fear that she’s somehow damaged what they have.
“It feels like it,” She admits softly, curling tighter into his chest as though hiding the words might make them less real.
Harry exhales slowly, the sound rough, almost tired.
His arms shift around her, pulling her in until her body is entirely under of his, until his chin is resting against the top of her head.
“It’s not you,” He murmurs, and she can feel the rumble of his voice against her temple, “It’s me. I’m the one who’s been off. I’ve been losing my mind these last few days, pup, and you’ve been the one paying for it.”
She tilts her head up, startled by the sharp honesty in his tone, “What do you mean?”
Harry’s throat works as he swallows, his eyes shutting for a beat before he forces them open again.
“Not being able to take care of you through your heat… it wrecked me,” He admits quietly, like the words are pulled out of him against his will, “I wanted to. Every second, I wanted to. I wanted to be here, wanted to make sure you were safe, wanted to keep you calm and fed and looked after. And I couldn’t. I had to sit there, locked up in my own hell.”
YN’s lips part, her chest tightening, because she hadn’t thought of it like that.
She had only thought of herself, of her own loneliness, of her own longing.
She hadn’t considered how it must have felt for him, to be unable to answer the pull that tugged at both of them.
Harry presses his nose back into her hair, breathing her in like he’s been starved.
His voice drops lower, softer, almost hoarse, “So no, we’re not off. I’m just… I’m worn down. I’ve been fighting myself and fighting the ache of not being able to take care of you the way I should. That’s not on you, pup. That’s on me.”
His scent shifts again as he speaks, sliding into that warm, enveloping note she knows so well—the one he only lets slip when he’s being bare with her, when he’s showing her what’s really going on inside.
It fills the air around her, heavy and sweet, wrapping her in reassurance until her body starts to relax against him.
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Harry says finally, pulling back just enough to tilt her chin so she has to meet his eyes.
YN sits there, listening to every word he says, but the problem is that none of it makes anything clearer for her.
Harry’s voice is steady, his words are honest, and she doesn’t doubt that he means them, but she doesn’t know what they mean.
When he says he wanted to take care of her, does he mean it the way any best friend would—wanting to make sure she ate, slept, and didn’t hurt herself in the middle of a heat that could have easily overwhelmed her?
Or does he mean it the way a mate would—wanting to hold her through it, soothe her when she burned too hot, press his body against hers until she was satisfied?
She can’t tell.
There is no distinction in his tone, no giveaway in the way he looks at her.
His touch is soft, his scent warm, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that makes her chest ache but Harry has always been like that with her.
So how is she supposed to know if this is different?
Her mind spins in circles, chasing itself down dead ends, trying to read between the lines of something that doesn’t seem to have lines at all.
She wants an answer, something solid to cling to, but all she has is his voice, his scent, his hands holding her close.
And none of it tells her whether she is just his best friend or if she is something closer to what she secretly longs to be.
