*

You can barely hide your smile at how she rolled her eyes at the mention of her fellow packmate.

“It’s why I wanted to talk to you, actually.” She shifts a little closer. Her eyes are soft from the lack of sleep as she gazes at you. “I heard you’re part of a matchmaking program.”

You nod. She glances away. Shoko almost looks sheepish.

“I was wondering if we’d be able to join.”

A smile stretches across your face.

“Of course! What time do you think you could come in?”

☕︎

You didn’t expect Shoko to present as Alpha.

You two were childhood friends. Being older than her, it was more like you were a babysitter–not that you minded the role. Shoko was a quiet kid even in her younger years. You liked that she often trailed behind you, like your own shadow. It was flattering in its own way. You never had any siblings, so you often regaled her as your younger sister.

You thought she’d be a beta like you. Or maybe even omega. Alpha was the last designation you would’ve ever given a girl like her. Just like you, she had two beta parents–being anything else was close to impossible.

But, looking back, the signs were always there.

The scuffle wasn’t the worst you’d ever seen. Fights are normal, especially for kids around your age. Emotions run high, sometimes. If left unsupervised, children don’t usually have healthy outlets.

Shoko wasn’t a kid you’d ever picture getting into a fight, yet the evidence was clear. It looked worse than it actually was. You can see remnants of dirt clinging to her youthful cheeks from when she took the fall. Her clothes were lightly scraped, as was the skin on her knees. It was nothing a Band-Aid couldn’t fix.

You hadn’t seen what happened. You had been on the other side of the playground when the yelling happened. Shoko barely struggled when you pulled the kids apart. The other girl was crying. Shoko wasn’t. Being the older one, you decided it was best to end the day right then and dragged Shoko home.

The girl was always quiet, but that walk was like talking to stone. She never budged from her clamped lips and tightened fists, no matter how hard you prodded. A part of you understood why. She was probably resigning herself to her parents’ beratement. She didn’t need a lecture from you, too.

Just when you were about to give up completely, she gave in.

“She said she was your friend.” She told you quietly.

“The girl with pigtails?” You asked

Shoko nodded. “She called you her friend, even though you’re mine.”

You glanced down at her hand, tightly clasped on your own.

“I can be both of your friends.” You gently tried to suggest.

She shook her head. Her grip tightens.

“No.” She said with a finality you’ve never seen in a child before. “Only mine.”

☕︎

Despite being well into the modern era, alpha-and-omega matchmaking programs haven’t lost popularity. It’s become a multibillion-dollar industry. Nowadays, instead of being sold off for political power, omegas and alphas can simply go to their local agency to find their mates.

Obviously, betas like you aren’t permitted to join, but you are highly encouraged to become matchmakers. Neutral scents are helpful when it comes to finding alpha-omega pairs. It’s comforting to omegas and non-threatening to alphas. Betas can not only act as matchmakers but also as barriers if things go awry.

You highly doubt that you’d need to be the latter, however, for this pack.

They arrive ten minutes before the official appointment. You knew Shoko had something to do with that because you doubt Satoru ever lost his lazy streak. Having no client, you decide to take them in early.

Satoru’s just as chatty since the days from highschool. He trails behind you as you lead the group to your office, asking about your day and then telling you about his. You didn’t think he’d be a teacher, but he always managed to surprise you.

Suguru is reserved but friendly. He greets you after Satoru’s tight hug, giving one of his own. You heard he now heads a Buddhist temple, though you never considered him the religious type. It’s hard to imagine him in traditional clothes after seeing him in casual wear and a high school uniform for so long.

“Didn’t expect you to be part of a breeding program.” Satoru comments after you’ve shuffled them into your office. He leans in, probably to inhale your scent again. They’ve all done that once or twice. Satoru’s just not as subtle as the other two.

It’s an alpha thing. Omegas and alphas are different from betas. Unlike you, they rely more on pheromones to guide them around the world. He hasn’t seen you in a while; it’s normal to see if your scent has changed.

“We try not to call ourselves that.” You lightly respond, settling behind your office. “Trust me, it’s not as intense. All we do today is look over what you want in a mate—basic preferences. Then I can pair you up with whoever fits best. What you do after is entirely up to you.”

It’s a bad joke. Only Satoru smiles.

You clear your throat.

“So, did you have anything in mind?”

They exchange glances. You, completely used to losing alphas, continue briskly.

“We’ll start with broad strokes,” you tell them. “Obviously, you want a mate who’s open to a pack, right?”

“Yes.” Shoko agrees.

You type it across your keyboard. Alpha packs do a lot better in the program compared to single alphas. Often, your omega clients specifically requested them. You doubted you would have any trouble finding a match for these three.

“Perfect. Any age preference? Younger, older—“

“—older.” Satoru interrupts. Suguru elbows him, but Satoru doesn’t waver. “Definitely older.”

Suguru and Shoko don’t look particularly happy at his intrusion, but nobody objects. You add it to their profile.

“Any particular scents?” You ask.

“Not too sweet,” Suguru says. “Something more neutral.”

Satoru doesn’t look too interested in this topic. “What he says.”

Shoko is more concrete with her answer.

“Earl Grey.”

You try not to react to that, typing it into their profile with little hesitation.

“I think that’s enough for now.” You hurry along. “Do you have any education or work expectations?”

“Not particularly,” Shoko responds. “I think we’re looking more for a homemaker type– someone willing to settle down for pups.”

You had a feeling. Alpha packs are more interested in being providers, caring for their omega mate who is cuddled in a nest. Most omegas feel the same way. It’s a fairly symbiotic relationship.

“What about you?” Satoru asks.

You look up at him.

“Pardon?”

“Are you thinking of settling down? Having kids and all that?” He continues.

“Satoru.” Suguru chastises, but there’s nothing sharp in his voice. Shoko says nothing. Her warm, honey eyes always felt piercing. You always chalked it up to yet another alphan trait.

You shrug, thinking nothing of the question.

“Quit my job for a mate, you mean?” You ask before you shake your head. “I don’t think I could. I think I’d only be able to do it for a specific person, but I don’t think a person like that exists.”

Besides, you love your job. You love helping people find matches and life-long mates. Why would you ever give that up for children?

“But if that person did exist–”

“Satoru.” You interrupt. “We’re looking for a match for you, not for me.”

He huffs, leaning back in his seat, almost like a scolded child.

“Fine.” It almost sounds like a whine. You try not to laugh.

The rest of the appointment proceeds smoothly. Half an hour later, you’re able to gather additional specifications and preferences. Unlike the first few questions, the three are far more lax with their answers. Typically, after the first session, you’re able to put together matches off the top of your head. For whatever reason, these three were far too vague for you to get a clear idea.

“I think I can figure things out from here.” You tell them when the hour is up. “Would you be ready to meet your potential matches in a week or so?”

Suguru genuinely looks surprised. “I didn’t realize it would be so quick.”

“It’s more for trial than anything else.” You respond. “Don’t feel pressured if you aren’t ready.”

“That’s fine,” Shoko tells you. “Will you be with us when we meet them?”

“Of course not.” You assure. “I’ll just give you their profile. Whatever happens next is entirely up to you.”

You expect her to look relieved. She says nothing. None of them do.

“In any case, it was really nice seeing you three again!” You say when you lead them out to the door. “I wonder why we never met up after high school?”

Satoru frowns as he returns your hug. “It’s ‘cuz you practically ran away from us, remember?”

You wouldn’t necessarily call graduating and moving to college ‘running away’. Still, you laugh.

“I’ll try not to do that from now on.” You tell him. “You still have my number, right?”

Satoru’s still whining as you walk them through shiny glass doors. Suguru offers to buy you lunch, to which you decline. You had another client in a few minutes.

“One more thing before you go.” You call out just before they leave. “I’m a little curious: what made you decide to join the program?”

The three look at eachother. A secret conversation only alphas could ever have.

“We got tired of waiting,” Suguru answers.

Later, you realize that isn’t much of an answer.

☕︎

The three weren’t always this close. You could distinctly remember a time Shoko hated the other two.

Your community was mostly betas, with a small number of omegas. Until then, Shoko lived her school life as the sole alpha for miles around. Being her senior, you constantly worried about her. Alphas weren’t betas. There would always be a missing link between the two of you, no matter how hard you tried to accommodate her. As much as Shoko assured you otherwise, you knew a part of her would always feel that void.

And then, Gojo and Geto came along.

Both alphas. Both in the same year as Shoko. They exemplified the look of Alpha. Both of them towered well over the rest of their peers, already well over six feet despite their ages. When they smiled, you could see glimpses of silvery-white fangs. Being the only alphas in the entire grade, they were extremely interested in Shoko. You were ecstatic, happy to see your friend finally make friends with others.

Shoko was less than enthusiastic.

You didn’t understand why she wasn’t perceptive towards them. When they tried to extend their friendship, she raised her hackles, and her eyes would darken. She was well past her days getting into fights on the playground, but you were sure she was close to snapping on certain occasions.

Gojo and Geto continued to hover around her, despite her hostility. Since you were her friend, they hovered around you, too.

You tried to be a bridge for the three. Shoko hardly ever rejected your invitations to hang out. When the other two tagged along, that fact never changed, but she never seemed happy about it. She’d latch onto your arm, baring her teeth when the other two got a bit too close for her liking. You stopped initiating those hangouts as her clinginess often got far too debilitating.

“You need to be more social.” You finally told her.

“No.” She responded stiffly, her voice muffled by your shoulder.

You two sat on the school rooftop underneath a sunny, cloudless sky. Even on days like these, it was sparsely populated. Most of the student body preferred to have their lunches in the cafeteria or the courtyard.

“They’re being nice.” You urged. “They’re being so nice, and I can’t be your only friend forever.”

“Why not?” She asked.

You rolled your eyes, jostling her ever so slightly.

“I just can’t.” You insisted because you have bigger dreams than being stuck in a tiny town, you know, that has no future. There was a life outside of this place.

Also, you didn’t like being Shoko’s only friend. There’s a reason why she’s so protective of you–possessive at times. It’s an alpha thing: they can’t help but take and keep. Her possessiveness was terrible in her younger years, but at least now she’s a tiny bit better about you having other people to hang out with. Still, she refuses to become closer to anyone but you. Even in middle school, she barely had a handful of acquaintances she was quick to abandon in favor of you. It’s not healthy to be so isolated like that. You worried for her.

She’s about to say something, but then something sour crossed over her face. Shoko hunched over as she melded herself further into your side. You abandoned your chastising and gathered her up in your arms.

Shoko’s ruts were severe. She was almost always out of school those days. Even after her rut passed, she took days to recover. She was weakened and intensely more irritable in the aftermath. The only good part of her ruts was that in the days after, her scent became stronger, even to your weak betan nose. Shoko's scent reminded you of summer turning into fall. A low hill. A grassy plain. A dessert just after a large rainfall. Unlike the few alphas you knew of, her scent wasn't overly invasive. It was clean, and low, and rumbling. 

For Shoko, certain vices eased the agony. Nicotine helped, but you never liked the way the smell of cigarettes clung to her body. You tried to help the best you could, letting her cuddle you in quiet places away from prying eyes, rubbing her scent all over you to self-soothe.

But there was a limit a beta could do.

Her volatile ruts were yet another reason to be closer to Geto and Gojo. Alpha pheremones help other alphas. Just being in proximity to another would be enough to steady herself.

Shoko knew this, and yet she remained stubborn.

“You don’t get it,” she whispered after her episode passed. Her eyes were shut as she leaned further into your space.

“You can’t smell them like I can.”

You tilted your head, about to prod further, when Shoko opened her eyes. Her lips twitched into a frown. Less than a heartbeat later, the rooftop door flung open just as a giddy Gojo called out, ‘Found you!’ with a satisfied Geto trailing just behind him.

Shoko barely held back a growl as you pulled her off her feet to greet the other two, quickly forgetting her words. No matter how resistant she was, your determination to get her closer to the other two never faltered.

But sometimes, even you wondered if they were right for each other.

You never meant to eavesdrop. You and Shoko always walked home together; it’s the only reason you made your way to her homeroom, wondering what the hold-up was. She never made you wait. If anything, you always arrived after her.

It looked like a fight, but why would Gojo and Geto smile if they were fighting?

Shoko sat at her desk. She barely packed. You saw notepads and pencils scattered across her space. Gojo sat backwards on the desk right in front of her, hands crossed on the chair as they stared eachother down. Geto stood a little way away.

They were already in mid-conversation. You barely caught the tail-end of it.

“-Who cares who marked who first?” Gojo said, an overdramatic pout arched over his lips.

“You should really learn how to share, Ieiri.” Geto continued because back then, they weren’t on a first-name basis yet. “It’d be better for all of us if you did.”

“You know that’s not natural, right?” Shoko responded; her honey eyes were no longer rich and warm. “You should give up.”

“Shouldn’t you, too, then?” Geto wondered.

The conversation ended the second Shoko noticed you. She stood up in a rush, barely shoving her things in her backpack before she marched up to you and dragged you away with a harsh grip on your arm. You could barely wave to your other two underclassmen before you were carted away by her.

You never asked, abandoning the curiosity as soon as you saw the expression on her face. You always wondered what would have happened if you had arrived just a bit later.

☕︎

Utahime wrinkles her nose before she enters your apartment.

“You smell like him.” She gripes.

You tilt your head before remembering there’s only one alpha in the world that made her face twist up like that.

Satoru always had a habit of scenting you in high school. You may not be able to smell it, but other omegas and alphas can. You scolding him while he sulked on his desk like a puppy wasn’t an uncommon sight. Obviously, he hadn’t broken the habit.

“I’ll have to talk to him about that.” You frown. “I don’t think omegas will like the idea of him scenting a beta.”

The omega perks up. “Wait, he’s joined the program?”

“All three of them, actually.” You tell her as you both settle down in your kitchen. “I managed to set them up with an omega just a couple of days ago.”

Your omega client seemed absolutely thrilled when you told him. Alpha packs are growing more uncommon by the day, so he was right to be excited about it. You hope it went well. He matched most of the pack's wants, so you don’t think it will end in complete shambles.

Utahime still looks unconvinced. “I didn’t think they went for omegas.”

You understood what she meant. In high school, those three never seemed interested in omegas. Shoko was friendly with Utahime, but Satoru always picked on her, and Suguru occasionally joined in. At first, you assumed it was a ‘pulling on the pigtails of the girl you liked’ situation, but their teasing often felt hostile.

“Maybe they finally grew up.” You tell her. “Do you ever wonder who the pack leader is? I never had the chance to ask them, but I always wondered.”

Asking about that kind of thing is a bit rude, especially if you weren’t a potential omega. You’ve seen other packs before, and it’s typically pretty easy to tell who the pack leader is. It’s usually the one who’s always biting the others down, keeping them in place. Shoko, Suguru, and Satoru aren’t like that. They work so well-together, it gets hard to tell who’s really calling the shots.

Utahime snorts. “It’s obviously Gojo.”

“Obviously?” You echo.

“His scent is the strongest. That’s usually what determines it,” She explains, not sounding too interested. “I bet he whined and whined until the other two gave in.”

You felt bad for laughing, but you could honestly imagine that.

“I’m really surprised Shoko’s still with them.” You continue. “I know they’re all pack, but she’s so different compared to the other two.”

Satoru was the most outgoing, but Suguru had his own quirks. Shoko was the odd one out, you always felt.

Utahime shrugs, rifling through her bag. “Maybe they have more in common with each other than you realize.”

For a bit, the topic of the three is dropped. You let Utahime ramble about her work and how her students are doing as she sets out her newest creation: a chocolate raspberry cake.

Omegas have certain quirks when their heat approaches. Utahime bakes–something you take full advantage of. You would feel bad about begging her to bring over her desserts all the time, but Utahime never seemed to mind your desperation. Like most omegas, Utahime's scent was slightly stronger. Now, even your weak betan nose could catch a whiff of her scent in the air. She smelled gentle, like flowers dancing in the wind on the side of a grassy mountain. 

“This is incredible.” You moan when you take another bite of chocolate goodness. It practically melts on your tongue. “Can you be my mate? I’d make you happy, I swear.”

She looks away. “Shut up.” There’s no heat in her voice.

“Have you considered it, though?” You wonder, inhaling another slice. “Joining the program, I mean. I can think of a few alphas that might interest you.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think my type is in the program, and besides.” Her face turns disgusted. “Now that Gojo’s in it, I’m not taking any chances.”

You laugh. “I’d make sure to never pair you up, I promise!”

She huffs again. Your voice quietens as you remember something.

“Hey, I was wondering…what do I smell like again?”

She frowns. “Why do betas always ask that? You need to get better noses.”

“Just remind me.”

She rolls her eyes, but she acquiesces.

“You smell the same as always,” she tells you. “Like Earl Grey & Cucumbers.”

By the end of the week, you finally get the call you were waiting for.

You pick up on the second ring and immediately press the speaker button.

“Hiro!” You trill, making yourself comfortable on the sofa. “How have you been?”

Your omega client responds in kind. You make small talk until you eventually bring it up.

“So,” you ask, “how did the date go?”

You expect a barrage of excitement and blabbering. Hiro is a sweet guy. You could tell he would mesh well with those three. Inwardly, you congratulate yourself for making such a good match.

“It went okay.” His answer stills.

“Okay?” You repeat.

Just okay? You expect something far more than such a simple answer.

At your silence, Hiro continues.

“Maybe okay isn’t the best word. I liked them but…” he trails off. “I don’t think they liked me very much.”

“Huh,” you say, tapping your fingers. “What did they say exactly?”

“Not much, I mean, they were nice. I just don’t think our personalities meshed well. They were all so quiet, I felt like I was doing most of the talking.”

“Quiet? Even Satoru?”

“I don’t even think he spoke,” Hiro confesses.

You do not think the word quiet appeared in Gojo’s dictionary. He constantly chattered, unable to let the world forget he existed for hardly a moment. It was a major reason you paired Hiro with them. He is just as bubbly. You thought he and Satoru would work really well together.

“Wow,” you say after a while. “I’m sorry, I really thought things would work out between you four.”

“It’s fine,” Hiro responds, just as disappointed. “Plenty more fish in the sea, right?”

You once again tell Hiro your apologies before hanging up. Weird, you usually had more trouble appealing to your omega clients compared to your alpha ones. Maybe this would be a lot harder than you initially assumed.

☕︎

Halfway through your second year, Geto joined the newspaper club.

You were ecstatic when he told you. Shoko couldn’t participate in any early-school activities due to her poor sleep habits, and you doubt Gojo would’ve enjoyed them. Having somebody you knew do an activity you enjoyed was really exciting. It was something you and he bonded over, much to Shoko’s chagrin.

When you had club projects together, it was common to go over to one or the other’s houses. You liked Geto’s house. It wasn’t so large, not like Gojo’s sprawling mansion you’d had the misfortune of getting lost in once or twice. Geto’s home was vibrant and warm, filled with splashes of color and properly decorated furniture.

His parents were nice too. You liked the snacks they brought out, more than happy to indulge in the intricate sweets they prepared.

His parents were a proper alpha-omega pair. His alphan-father was boisterous and hearty in a way that reminded you of Gojo. His voice was loud, and his laugh practically rang through the halls.

His omegan-father was a bit on the meek side. You could count the number of times he’d directly spoken to you. His voice was soft–a complete contrast to his mate. He often resigned himself to quietly nodding along with whatever his husband rambled on. You could count the number of times he’d directly even looked at you.

Once, when Geto was still rummaging upstairs for something or another, you wondered out loud how they met. The alpha was more than happy to tell you the story of how he met his omega. You learned that they were childhood friends before the omega decided to part ways for a bit. Eventually, they reunited and got mated soon after.

“You waited for ten years?” You asked in awe. “Did you ever consider moving on?”

The alpha laughed before shaking his head, “Never.” He told you with a smile. “When alphas find their mate, nothing can keep them away, not even time.”

Geto’s other father stood in the kitchen, dutifully wiping down a counter. He didn’t react when his husband told you about their love story. You could only assume he was used to it.

“That’s beautiful.” You gushed.

There’s a secret smile on the alpha’s lips before Geto marches downstairs, leading you out the door with a glare directed at his father.

“Ignore him,” Geto told you as you trekked to school. “He tells that story to every person he can.” There’s a roll of his eyes, and he failed to hide his embarrassment.

“I think it’s sweet.” You kindly told him as he averted his gaze. “I don’t think I could wait ten years for someone like that.”

Geto considered you for a moment.

“I don’t think I could, either.” He finally admitted. “At the very least, I would get impatient by the end of it.”

You thought you were about to agree when your phone beeped. You glanced at the notification, and your heart skipped a beat.

Takahashi<3: I’m free after school:)

You barely hid your smile. Geto didn’t miss your sudden giddiness as you typed away on your phone.

“Did something happen?” He asked.

You shook your head and placed your phone back into your pocket.

“I think I have a date later.” You told him, oblivious to the twitch on his lips.

“A date?” Geto echoed. You cheerfully nodded.

You liked Takahashi since the start of the school year. He was in your homeroom, and you were already close acquaintances. You wanted to get closer to him, but Shoko often thwarted your plans. She made her distaste in Takahashi extremely clear. You tried not to get too upset by her attitude. She was protective of you and probably thought you could do better. It’s what friends did.

“Maybe we should keep this from Shoko.” You told Geto right before the school gates. “She doesn’t really approve of the guy.”

Geto hummed. “I’m not surprised.”

The day passed on as it normally would. You trudged through your sludge of classes and waited for school to finally be over. When it did, you practically jumped from your seat, barely waving off your friends as you rushed out of the school gates.

Takahashi wasn’t waiting for you, but you didn’t mind. You could take some time to calm your nerves.

You waited.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

You sent him a text.

Eighteen minutes.

You sent another.

Students filtered past you, eager to abandon their homework in favor of arcades and hanging out with their friends. You remained where you were, feeling your excitement drain the longer Takahashi refused to show his face.

After nearly an hour of waiting, you gave up. He wasn’t coming. You wanted to call him, but you can’t bring yourself to. Embarrassment crept up your shoulders and neck. You felt so stupid for even waiting around for this long.

They caught up to you when you were halfway home, glumly dragging your feet across the pavement. Gojo’s long arm draped over your shoulders as he lightly jostled you in an effort to catch your attention.

“Where are you going?” He cheerfully asked. You frowned.

“Home, obviously.” You told him before glancing further up ahead.

Geto gave a lazy wave. Shoko said nothing. You expected her to be a bit less receptive towards Gojo for putting his hands on you.

She had no reaction.

“So, you’re doing nothing, right?” Gojo asked. Glee radiated from his body. “We should go to the movies!”

“That sounds fun.” Geto agreed, before he gave you a pointed look. “As long as you didn’t have anything planned?”

You appreciated that he wanted to give you an out, but it was for nothing. You planned to spend the entire day with Takahashi. Your afternoon remained empty now that he unceremoniously ghosted you.

“That sounds fun,” You said, “but I’m not in the mood to–”

“I’m fine with anything as long as it isn’t that weird Earthworm movie Gojo kept talking about.” Shoko piped in as she stepped closer.

“But it looks so funny!” Gojo whined as he tugged you in the other direction. The other two followed right behind him. “You should give it a chance.”

Despite your reluctance, you were dragged off to the movies regardless. You couldn’t remember the film. The popcorn tasted buttery and salty in your mouth. Gojo kept disrupting you to talk shit about every character that popped onscreen. You weren’t allowed to go home until hours later, when the three made it their mission to walk you home. By that time, you’d forgotten about your botched date. You were far more interested in how the three had suddenly grown close.

It was as if they’d always been friends. Their conversations with each other felt natural, almost right. Even their bickering no longer held Shoko’s usual hostility. Perhaps you’d been wrong to try to force it. They just needed to find each other in their own way.

That day might not have ended the way you wanted it to, but you were still happy.

The very next day, Takahashi completely ignored you. He no longer smiled or greeted you. He seemed perfectly happy pretending you never existed in the first place.

If you were being honest, you did not mind in the slightest. Over time, you forgot about the guy who ditched you, and life continued on as always.

☕︎

Part of you expects the luxury.

When Suguru extended the invite, you knew he was never one to pull his punches. When he plans something, he goes all out. He adores dramatics and flair. This time was no exception.

The restaurant exuded extravagance the moment you stepped through crystal-clear glass doors. The warm air soothed the goosebumps gathering on your arms– a complete contrast to the chilly wind lingering just outside. The floors and ceilings were perfectly polished to the point where you could almost see your entire reflection. The spiral columns were perfect ivory, perfectly matching the black-and-white theme throughout the floor. Your heels clicked against the tiles as your hostess led you through the restaurant. The sounds of clinking utensils and glassware filtered through your ears.

They were already seated, three pairs of eyes clinging to your figure as you made their entrance. Satoru was more than happy to greet you first. His eyes simmer, but his smile barely falters as you get closer.

“What?” You ask.

Satoru wrinkles his nose.

“You smell like alpha.”

“It’s probably because I work with other alphas,” you say, “You know half of my clients are alphas, right?”

“Ignore him.” Suguru cuts in before Satoru continues to badger you. “He skipped his afternoon nap, so he’s a bit fussy this evening.”

You wave it off. Truthfully, you were used to alphas getting mad over another alpha’s scent. It’s happened to a couple of your omega clients, as well as to you. It’s instinct for alphas to flare up when they smell other alphas. Biological. They can’t help it. You actually expected Shoko to be more hostile because of it, yet as you glanced over, she barely even blinked. She must’ve gotten over her scent possession days from high school.

You adjust yourself in your seat as the waitress strolls over. Food and drinks are ordered. You listen to Satoru whine about work while the other two chastise him. You promised yourself you wouldn’t drink too much, but barely half an hour in, and you’re already tipsy. You know this was supposed to be a get-together, a high-school reunion of sorts. Work was absolutely not to be discussed, but you couldn’t help getting yourself worked up over it. They might’ve been your old high school friends, but they were also the most difficult clients you’ve ever had.

Shoko notices first.

“Just say it.” She eyes you.

“Say what?” You tilt your head.

“You’re mad, right?” Satoru pipes in, absolutely delighted when you frown in his direction. “It’s all over your face.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Oh, it’s that bad, hm?” Suguru hums, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m not mad.” You repeat, before wincing. “I’m…frustrated, I think. You guys are giving me a run for my money.”

After Hiro’s clear rejection, you paired a couple more omegas with the three of them. Each one ended in the same way. You would get a call from a disappointed omega telling you it didn’t really work out. Later that same day, three alphas would innocently seat themselves in your office–ready for another match.

You don’t even know what you’re even mad about. They’re allowed to make rejections; that’s their right. For whatever reason, it oddly felt like they were messing with you.

You could expect that type of behavior from Satoru, maybe even Suguru, but Shoko? You could never see her do something like that for the fun of it.

(Or maybe you were clinging to her high school demeanor–the sweet, quiet girl who used to trail behind you with soft brown eyes and a muted smile)

“At this point, I think you might be doing this on purpose.” Your lips curl up into a smile to indicate how silly you think that is. It’s clearly a joke. Low-hanging fruit, you guide them to so they can quell your worries.

None of them refute it. Eventually, Satoru starts rambling about yet another incident involving the students at his school. Suguru chimes in with his thoughts every now and then. Shoko just berates her packmates for being such nuisances. The topic is carefully avoided for the rest of the night.

With delicious and expensive food carefully stashed into your stomach, the four of you decide to call it a night. When you reveal you took the cab here, the three are quick to invite you into their own car. It doesn’t take you too long to give in.

When you step out into the cold, Shoko offers her jacket. She used to do that back in middle school; smother you with her clothes any time she could. She’d take your clothes too, sometimes. You used to find skirts and shirts missing every time she came over. She never stopped, not even when you scolded her for it over and over again. ‘An alpha thing,’ your parents once told you when you complained, ‘you need to be more considerate of her nature. She can’t help herself. It’s instinct.’.

When she does it now, you don’t think it has anything to do with her instincts. She grew out of it when high school came around. Today, Shoko wraps her jacket around you to protect you from the blistering cold as you follow them outside.

The car belongs to Satoru. You’ve never seen it before in your life, but you can instantly tell. It’s Satoru’s in the way that it’s bright red and sleek. He starts the car with a low rumble. You climb in the back, feeling your seat hum as the car purrs to life.

Suguru settles next to you while Shoko gets into the passenger seat. Your stomach flips when you start to buckle yourself in. You start to remember all the times Satoru nearly killed you with his driving skills back when he first got his license. He’d been so excited back then, constantly offering rides to your house, the arcade, and even to places where there was no need for a car. His need to show off was an ever-present part of his personality back then.

“Did he ever learn to drive properly?” You can’t help lean over and whisper in Suguru’s ear.

He laughs while Satoru puffs from somewhere in front of you.

“I heard that,” Satoru says, “My driving was never that bad. You’re so dramatic.”

It was much worse than bad, but you decided not to bully him about it. Surprisingly, Satoru drives a lot nicer than you expect. He maintains a mostly steady pace, not at all like the sharp halts and breaks his younger self seemed to like so much.

He catches your eye in the rearview mirror.

“See?” He tells you with a proud smile.

You roll your eyes, unamused.

“Honestly, I’d take highschool you’s driving over Utahime’s,” you say, watching the city nightlife as the car speeds up, “she insists on driving fifteen miles below the speed limit. It takes an hour to get anywhere.”

“Utahime?” Suguru echoes, and you remember he probably hadn’t seen her since high school.

“How is she?” Shoko asks.

“She’s doing well.” You respond.

You’re about to offer a reunion before you clamp the urge down. She wasn’t their friend, after all. If anything, she barely tolerated them. Anytime your juniors would crash your hangouts, Utahime’s face would instantly pinch up. For your sake, she remained mostly civil.

“Is she mated?” Shoko asks.

You eye her. It’s a weird question to ask, but you give in anyway, not really seeing the harm.

“No, not that I know of,” you admit, “she’s not a big fan of the matchmaker program, either.”

You’ve tried to convince her numerous times, but Utahime refused to budge. She’d get oddly offended anytime you even broached the topic, so you’ve decided to avoid it.

For a split second, you catch Shoko and Suguru looking at eachother with dark eyes. Secret conversations only alphas could have. You bet their scent was dipping in a way only they could sniff out. A part of you always wondered it was like, but you never wondered for long. It’s not like you’d ever get to experience it.

Were they thinking of Utahime as a potential mate? You didn’t want to burst their bubble, but you highly doubt she’d be happy about that.

“We keep talking about our love lives, but what about you?” Suguru suddenly asks.

You glance at him. “My love life?” You ask.

“Met anyone special lately?” Satoru prods from the front.

You shake your head, watching the scenery pass you by. You remembered them being curious about your dating life back in high school, constantly hounding you the moment you got close to another beta who wasn’t them. It was only natural. Alphas and omegas found lifetime partners in a very different way compared to betas. To you, the idea of talking and going on dates to get to know someone is natural. To alphas, it must sound like an alien concept.

“I’ve got my hands too full of you three to even bother meeting someone.” You tell them with a teasing lilt in your voice before it fades. “Besides, meeting another beta is a lot harder than meeting up with an omega. Everything’s less instinctual, I think.”

“Why would you only restrict yourself to betas?” Shoko asks.

The alcohol was getting to you. Your lips are a bit looser than usual. Your words are cruder. You roll your eyes.

“Who else is there? An omega?” Your voice dipped into a sardonic sneer like you couldn’t even stomach the thought. “An alpha?”

You laugh at the joke. They don’t join in. You don’t notice the darkened tension in the car as you continue to stare out the window, not minding the silence. The evening tired you out. You stifle a yawn, and your eyes drift closed.

Something sharp grazed your neck.

Your eyes snap open. The car has stopped. You glance over to Suguru.

He smiles. There’s a respectful distance between the two of you. He remains a seat apart.

“Did I startle you?” He genuinely asks. “Sorry, I was trying to wake you up.”

“Oh.” You say, calming down your racing heartbeat. “No, it’s okay. Are we here?”

You raise up, trying to peek at the window. Your apartment complex lies just a little way away.

“Home sweet home!” Satoru cheers, his glee having fully returned.

“We’ll walk you up,” Shoko suggests.

“No.” You fumble with your seatbelt. “You’ve done so much already. Thanks for the night. It was fun.”

“It was.” Suguru agrees. “We should do it again, sometime.”

You eye him again. He still hasn’t moved. You resist the urge to touch your neck.

“Yeah,” you say, trying not to make your voice sound so clipped. “That would be great.”

You step out into the cool night air, trying to ignore the three pairs of eyes that followed you across the sidewalk and up the stairs. As soon as you got out of their eyesight, you finally felt like you could breathe again.

Hours later, when you’ve showered and settled into bed, you finally decide to tell yourself there was nothing. You had been half-asleep. You probably dreamed it. You’ve known those three your entire lives; there was no way they could do something like that.

And yet, a part of you could feel it on your neck. You reach up to lightly press on the patch of skin. There was nothing, but a part of you had that feeling memorized. You don’t think you could ever forget that feeling.

Teeth rasping right over your scent gland.

☕︎

You never truly saw Shoko as an alpha until your last year of high school.

You never had the chance to. You’d grown up with her by your side. You saw her every day. You didn’t notice her slowly surpassing you in height. You didn’t notice the way her teeth grew sharper and sharper. To you, she remained as Shoko: your tiny little follower.

In your head, you always put her in a different category than Satoru and Suguru. They were your friends, but they were also alphas. Shoko was your friend. There was a difference, though you weren’t sure what the difference was.

The incident happened sometime toward the end of the school year. By then, the three had formed a true pack. All the bad blood they shared in their first year had completely scattered by the second. They matched eachother well, moving as one coordinated unit. When the four of you hung out, you felt like you were the odd one out. It made you wonder if this was how Shoko felt when you forced her to hang out with your friends, an alpha surrounded by betas.

You weren’t upset at her for finding a friend group she matched with, regardless of how little you fit in. She deserved that.

You appreciated that she tried to incorporate you into her circle, too.

“Are you ignoring us?” Suguru asked.

You gave him a look, already exasperated.

“What are you talking about?” You frowned. “You literally asked me to check your essay. That’s what I’m doing.” You gestured to the paper on your desk.

Technically, it wasn’t your desk. This wasn’t your classroom. The rest of the second year had already left for the day, preferring to spend their time at home or at clubs. These three remained the odd ones out, still lounging on their desks hours after the bell rang.

Since Shoko had this bad habit of refusing to let you walk home alone, you were often forced to sit with them, waiting around until they decided to leave.

You sat just behind Suguru and Shoko. Suguru’s elbows rested on the chair’s back as he watched you work. Shoko mirrored him. Satoru abruptly left a few minutes ago, most likely to get a snack from the vending machine to satisfy his sweet tooth. The only evidence of his presence was his sunglasses and his backpack, hung over his chair.

“I’m starting to think you just gave this to me so I won’t get bored.” You complained. “Your writing’s perfect as always. What am I even looking for?”

“I’m sure you’ll critique it well,” Suguru responded, as an amused smile spread across his lips. “I trust your judgment.”

You rolled your eyes but cast your gaze down on the paper, hoping to find something to nitpick. You knew that was an impossible feat. These three were at the top of their class for a reason.

“I give up.” You told him, handing his paper back. “It’s perfect. I see a 100 in your near future. Stop fishing for compliments.”

He laughed, but he accepted his essay back with fingers ever so gently brushing over yours.

“Besides, I’m not really good at grading.” You continued. “Utahime’s the literature expert.”

“I don’t think she’ll be too happy being asked for a favor like this.” Suguru countered as he tucked away his assignment. His nimble fingers ran across his backpack and tugged the zip shut.

You clicked your tongue. “That’s because you and Satoru are constantly picking on her.”

Your eyes slide to Shoko.

“She likes you at least.” You tell her with a teasing smile.

In that, you mean the two girls are civil to each other. By that time, you gave up on Utahime’s ability to cozy up to these guys. They’re a lost cause–the few omegas in your school already steer clear of them. It’s clear they aren’t looking for anyone to complete their pack.

“I don’t think it’s like that.” She refuted.

You opened your mouth to respond, but then their expressions shifted.

Their hackles raised. They sat up straighter. Alert. You’ve never seen them act like that before. Your smile faded, pulled away from your lips by their sudden behavior.

There’s a soft thump at the classroom entrance. Your eyes landed on Satoru’s body, leaning against the door. His breaths were ragged, shoulders hunched over.

You stood up, making your way towards him. Shoko called your name, but you didn’t stop. You hesitantly reached for your junior. Concern settled at the back of your throat. Was he sick or something? He seemed okay when he left just a few minutes ago.

“Satoru?” You called, watching his shoulders stiffen. “Is everything okay–”

You saw his eyes. There was a flash of blue and teeth before he lunged at you.

Suguru stepped in before he could make contact.

There was a clatter of desks as Suguru pushed his friend to the floor and restrained him. You stumbled back, nearly tripping over on your feet, before your back collided with Shoko. She held you securely in her arms as you watched the struggle.

You couldn’t even recognize your friend as he breathed heavily, still pinned underneath your other friend. His eyes hadn’t left yours. They were clouded, unfocused.

Satoru’s scent was often muted to your beta nose. Sometimes, when he got particularly worked up, you caught a whiff of something deep and almost fruity in the air.

Today, the clear scent of Satoru invaded your senses.

Rut, your brain supplied even when your body remained helpless to do anything but watch. Satoru had gone into rut.

“Should–” Your voice shook. You swallowed down your nerves. “Should we get a teacher–”

Shoko called your name again. This time, you listened.

Your eyes drifted up to meet her own. She stared straight at Satoru’s writhing body.

“You need to go. Now.”

You don’t recognize her tone. You’ve never heard such a voice come from her before. It was deep, almost guttural. Unapologetically alpha.

It was why you obeyed. Silently, you packed up your stuff, putting away your assignments and pens, shoving them into your bag. You avoided the scene of the two alphas calming down their packmate as you fled the classroom. You heard Satoru’s grunts through the hall. They followed you, rang through your ears the entire walk home.

The next day, Satoru wasn’t at school. When he returned the day after, the incident remained unspoken. The three refused to acknowledge it. You did the same, following in their footsteps. It was easier to pretend everything was fine. You wanted to forget the vision of Satoru staring up at you with clouded eyes. You wanted to forget Suguru’s strength as he restrained his friend. You wanted to forget what you heard in Shoko’s voice.

It was easier to pretend.

Around that time, you looked into colleges out of town.

☕︎

You think it’s time you cut Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko off.

Not personally. It’s the first time in a while that the four of you have seen each other since high school. Nostalgia for the good old days clouds your vision. You couldn’t do that to them or to yourself.

But clearly, your services were not working out for them. The many matches and omegas you have set up always ended in rejection. There wasn’t a single omega they liked, and they often had vague reasons for why. Getting a clear answer was like pulling teeth. Maybe they couldn’t be honest with you because of your past with them.

It was not fair to those three. Maybe you were wrong to offer your services. You should have recommended one of your fellow matchmakers instead. A part of you will always feel guilty for jumping the gun like that, far too excited to help your friends find love than being logical.

You’d cut them off professionally. As for personally, you would still keep in touch here and there. Just not as often. You were gradually declining their invitations to hang out. You texted them less and less. You wouldn’t cut them off, but you were slowly starting to remember why you drifted away from those three in the first place.

You agonized over your decision for days, wondering how to break it to them.

When they extend the offer for drinks at their place, you decide to bite the bullet.

One rainy evening, you step out of your car, blinking away the drizzle as you stare up at the mansion. It was large enough to pack ten families into the estate. You knew Satoru’s family was well off, but it always breaks your brain when you try to understand how well off. Satoru offhandedly mentioned he liked the property for how demure it was compared to his childhood home. The front door puts your entire apartment to shame.

You barely wait a second after you knock. The door pulls open, and Shoko invites you in with a smile on her face. You return her hug, feeling her soft cashmere sweater underneath your fingers. She’d been smoking recently. The scent of it was faint but still noticeable in the air. A part of you wonders if you can chastise her as you did back when you two were kids.

You thank her. Thunder rumbles in the distance as you step inside. The rain and wind picked up, swirling angrily outside and pelting the windows.

“How long do you think the rain will last?” You ask her as she leads you further inside.

There’s another boom of thunder and lightning. Shoko glances down at you thoughtfully.

“We’ll definitely be stuck in here for a while.” She tells you.

You nod along. Hopefully, the rain lets up by the time you go home.

Unfortunately for you, the rain poured throughout the evening. Mother Nature refused to let up for even a moment, going on and on.

Compared to the chill of the rain, the house provided bright lights and warmth. The storm raging outside was nothing compared to the three chattering about their daily lives. Throughout it all, you smiled and talked when necessary. You didn’t know if they noticed, but you were anxious, your entire body twinged with nerves. Despite the wine swirling in your cup, you refused to take a single drop. It’s best to have this conversation sober.

You wait until there’s a lull in the conversation. You take a deep breath.

“So, I was thinking about transferring you guys to another matchmaker,” you say. “But I want to hear your thoughts first.”

They don’t seem necessarily surprised by your declaration. Satoru adjusts himself on the couch. He props his chin on his hand as he studies you. His sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose. Pretty sapphire eyes stare unwaveringly at you.

“Transfer us?” He echoes. “I thought we were your favorite clients.”

You try to match his lazy grin, but it comes out stilted and wobbly.

“I think it’d be best for you all.” You avert your gaze, fiddling with the cup, almost grateful to have something to keep your fingers busy. It was an expensive-looking cup. When the wine glass caught the light at just the right angle, it sparkled. Translucent glass turned iridescent.

“It’s not fair for me to keep you guys on like this for months,” you continue. “Every omega I’ve matched with you three always ends in rejection. Maybe you’d have better luck with someone else?”

You huff out a laugh.

“At this point, I’m starting to think you don’t want to meet omegas.”

You don’t need to have heightened senses of an alpha to know that was the wrong thing to say.

Immediately, the evening's quiet atmosphere turned heavy and daunting. You felt it in your shoulders as something invisible almost pinned you to the sofa.

Satoru’s smile almost turns feral.

“You’re right.” Shoko says.

You can’t read her expression. Her lips are pulled into a thin line. You think you like the lipstick shade the wears tonight. It compliments her tone well.

You squint at her. A pit forms in your stomach.

“What?”

“We don’t want an omega.” Suguru finishes for her. “And after meeting so many, I’ve never been certain of anything more. We don’t want an omega, we want you. We always have.”

He keeps his tone softing, almost coaxing, like you’re some wild animal. Despite the gentleness of his voice, his words cut deep into your soul. You’re shaking your head before you realize what you were doing.

“I don’t understand.” You repeat his words over and over in your head as you lift yourself from your seat. “I–I don’t understand why–”

“C’mon, you couldn’t have been that oblivious, right?” Satoru slips into the spot next to you. A long arm rests across your shoulders, keeping you in place. “We made things so obvious in high-school. Pretty sure Shoko was pining ever since elementary.”

You wait for Shoko to refute the claim. She doesn’t. Even now, you’re thinking everything they’re telling you is some type of sick joke–something alphas tell to unsuspecting betas to laugh at.

“I’m a beta.” You state the obvious. “You are all alphas. You can’t–you shouldn’t want me–”

“I don’t care.” Shoko says as she stares at you with pretty eyes the color of warm honey. “I never have.”

Satoru hums in agreement. He leans into your side, nuzzling his face into your neck. When he’s close like this, the smell of his scent is stronger. He smells like a Buddhist temple tucked away in the highest mountain peaks, unreachable to all. The wind howls and whisks past ice and rock. The air is freezing and thin, almost suffocating.

You move when he gets uncomfortably close to your nape, right where your scent gland is.

You throw his arm off your shoulders, standing up straight. You keep your eyes on the ground, unwilling to look at any of them. You don’t think you’d be able to look at them for a long time.

“I don’t want to listen to any of this anymore.” You hear yourself speak.

“You three are drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.” You step away from the living room. Your movements are robotic. Stiled. Your body is kept on autopilot as your brain tries to keep up with what just happened. You head for the door.

“Sleep it off. We can talk about this later.”

You never reach the exit.

A hand grabs your wrist, keeping you in place. You turn back to see Suguru’s empty expression. His purple eyes are dark. He gives a smile. It looks hollow. Fake. Plastic.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, “I just…I don’t think I can wait anymore.”

The words feel familiar. A conversation the two of you had a decade ago.

You open your mouth to ask when his lips swallow yours.

It’s utterly possessive in nature. Suguru’s scent envelopes you whole as he kisses you. He smells like what lurks underneath the roaring sea. You feel like you’re drowning, trapped in underwater caves where your ears pop from the immense pressure of the unwavering ocean.

Your hands press against his chest, urging him off. Even then, he only releases you when he’s had his fill. You stumble back, looking at his reddened lips and dark eyes. He’s breathing heavily, slightly hunched over like he’s ready to pounce. His eyes are wide and completely blown out.

You don’t think you’re looking at a person anymore.

You’re looking at a predator.

“Yeah.” It’s something between a growl and a laugh. “I don’t think I can wait any longer for this.”

Your words are cut off by a scream–your scream. There’s a harsh grip on your wrist before you’re being dragged back to the living room and haphazardly thrown onto the couch. Satoru’s hands keep you down as you struggle fruitlessly against his arms. He laughs somewhere above you as your vision twists and turns in mindless panic.

Satoru’s kiss is a lot more violent. He’s messy, smearing his scent all over your neck, your scent glands, eager to claim. His sharp teeth are more than happy to explore your lips. When he reluctantly pulls away in satisfaction, your lips are left in bloody tatters.

“I don’t think I can wait anymore, either.” Satoru agrees with his pack mate. “I’m surprised you were the one who broke first, Suguru. What happened to ‘waiting ‘till everyone’s ready’ and all that bullshit? So desperate.”

Fingers play with the edge of your shirt as Suguru scoffs. “Shut up.”

“Stop.” You’ve never heard your voice sound like this before. “Don’t–don’t–”

“Enough.”

The two freeze. So do you. Something blankets over your body.

Calming pheremones, the last piece of your brain supplies, but who would…?

Shoko’s face enters your vision. You blink helplessly at her.

Her expression is serene and calm as she studies your body. Her hand reaches out, gently caressing your face and tracing the length of your jawline. You feel the scrape of freshly manicured fingers.

On omegas, alpha pheremones help them become more receptive towards their alphan mates. It calms them, makes them feel closer to their chosen mate, and helps the process move along.

On betas, however, alpha pheremones cross wires. You weren’t built to be receptive. It clouds your vision, making your thoughts hazy. The panic remains even as your body slows down.

“Did they scare you?” She asks, voice gentle and dripping with faux innocence.

You can only manage a weak whine. She smiles and leans down to place a delicate kiss on your feverish temple.

“It’s my fault.” The worst part is how honest she sounds. “I should have told you back in high school. Maybe if I had, you wouldn’t have left, and maybe things would’ve been different…” Her voice trails off, and there’s this faraway look in her eyes.

“I meant what I said.” Her eyes focus on you again. “I don’t care that you’re a beta, but I don’t think we can treat you like a beta…not if we want you to understand that you belong with us.”

You look into her eyes, right underneath the bubbling warm honey. You think you see it then. Something rotten that festered there for at least a decade before it climbed its way to the surface. For a moment, you wonder how you hadn’t seen this in high school. You wonder how she tricked you, coerced you into becoming her friend despite the dark depths she held so closely to her heart.

And then, you understand she hadn’t hidden this from you at all.

Until now, you hadn’t seen her as alpha.

“I love you,” Shoko tells you earnestly, brushing away the tears cascading down your face. Then her voice hardens, and she isn’t talking to you anymore.

“I make the first bite.”

Satoru and Suguru don’t argue. Why would they? To alphas, the pack leader’s word is law.

Her kiss is gentle. She’s slow and careful as she carefully glides her lips and tongue against your own. She’s careful of her teeth, savoring your shuddering mouth as she swallows your cries and pleas.

You hate how familiar her scent is. Shoko is the Earth that the mountain rests on, where the oceans rock. She was everything you’ve ever known, and yet there was so much left to uncover. You just didn’t think you could do that before losing yourself.

Someone tugs down at your pants. Your eyes widen, and your panic builds up all over again. Shoko hushes you. Her lips trail to the edge of your jaw.

“He just wants to taste. Don’t mind him.” She tells you as Satoru tugs your pants down your sluggish legs. His fingers itch with eagerness as he squeezes the plush of your thighs.

“Don’t worry.” Shoko continues as Satoru practically rips your panties apart. “We won’t knot you tonight. We know you aren’t ready for that.”

“Fuck.” Satoru groans as he spreads your legs. He leans down to nuzzle your pussy, nose bumping at your clit. “You smell even stronger down here. ‘Can never get enough of your scent, I just wanna drown in it.”

“Who’s the desperate one, now?” Suguru goads as his own fingers explore what’s underneath your shirt. He grabs a fistful of your chest before squeezing. Your back arches up from his movement. He smiles.

Satoru ignores him and buries his face completely into your pussy. His tongue flicks out, eagerly lapping up at your hole. His movements are oddly stilted, almost unsure, mostly driven by instinct rather than anything else. Of course, he wouldn’t have any real sexual experience. Unlike betas, alphas and omegas mate for life.

His eagerness largely makes up for his lack of technique. Within moments, your body responds to him, urged on by his touches even though your mind is clinging on to the last semblance of sanity you have left.

“I love it.” His voice is almost a sob, strangely broken and muffled as his tongue drives deeper into your hole, hoping to drink up the essence of you. “I love this. I love you. I love you so much. I’m so glad we have you again.” His hands reach up to keep your trembling thighs away from his face, opening up more of yourself to his eager mouth.

“Satoru.” You hated how heedy your voice sounded. Your core clenched at the intrusion of him tongue-fucking your sensitive pussy, muscles contracting like they wanted nothing more but to keep him inside and milk him for all he’s worth. Your eyes squeezed shut as he pulled out to nibble on your clit.

“Please–please don’t–I don’t think I can–”

“I know, baby.” He coos from somewhere underneath you. “It hurts, right? I can make it all better, I promise. Just let go, baby. You can do it, I know you can.”

Encouraged by Suguru playing with your tits and the constant pressure of Satoru right at your cunt, you can’t put it off any longer. Shoko licks a stripe across your neck, and you’re gushing all over Satoru’s face as your pussy cums over and over again. Fingers dig into your ass cheeks, keeping your hips from lifting up as Satoru wrings out every last drop you have. He doesn’t stop until you collapse, exhausted underneath the staggering weight of your orgasm.

With bleary eyes, you watch as he rises from your throbbing pussy. His lips are still shiny. He never breaks his gaze from you as he licks his lips, savoring each drop.

Suguru takes his place between your trembling thighs. There’s a hiss of a zipper. Your eyes get impossibly wider as his cock pops out from underneath his briefs. It’s already an angry, bright red.

You don’t fight this time, not when Shoko’s pheremones are already starting to drown you again. You watch as Suguru’s cock aligns itself to your battered pussy. The tip taps on your swollen clit as he rocks himself through your plush lips, once, twice, thrice, until his cock finds your hole.

You hate the way his eyes glaze over. He looks down at you with complete adoration.

“I love you.” He tells you. “I can’t wait until you love us, too.”

Shoko’s teeth find your neck at the same time he bottoms out. The pain of the claiming bite somehow overrides the fullness you feel as Suguru ruts into you over and over again, completely giving into instinct.

It wasn’t bad music. You enjoyed his taste. You would just rather not hear it blasting through the walls at 2 am. 

A roommate disagreement. It’s the first one you’ve ever had. 

You want to do this right. Your biggest worry is offending him. You spend days figuring out the best way to approach him. You look up ways to gently bring up disagreements between your roommate. You fill a bag with treats and sweets–the kinds you’ve seen him munch on before. You even write a letter because you know how flighty you get in these situations, and you can’t thank him enough for all that he’s done for you, but if he could just maybe perhaps slightly–

“-So you just want me to turn the music down?” Gojo interrupts your rambling.

He’s sitting on the sofa, one leg across the other. You remain standing, too strung up to really relax. The paper you were reading out loud crinkles as you fold it back up. 

“Yeah.” You mumble. “If you can.” 

He takes another candy you’d gifted him, popping it in his mouth. 

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugs, as if it were hardly an inconvenience. 

You, on the other hand, nearly deflated in relief. You didn’t expect it to be so simple. You were half-preparing for the possibility that he’d blow up at you and go back to administration, demanding your eviction. Everything was resolved so easily. 

“Thank you.” A genuine smile graces your lips.

Gojo hums. The candy cracks between his teeth. 

“You’re pretty shy, huh?” He tilts his head, studying you.

A laugh escapes your throat. Nervous. 

“I just don’t like confrontation,” you admit. 

Gojo nods, returning your wave when you say your goodbyes. You think nothing of the exchange. Hours later, you’re still riding the high of how effortless it all went. 

⌂

Two things change today. 

First, Gojo is up this morning. 

He’s never up this early. Usually, you only hear him moving around at noon. You’re the early bird, not him. You never minded his routine. If anything, you appreciated that you ran on separate schedules. 

Second, he was naked. 

Gojo typically dresses conservatively: T-shirts, sweatpants, hoodies. He adorns the look of a typical college student most days. His tastes are a bit on the expensive side, considering how casually he wears luxury brands, but he’s mostly covered up.  

Today, Gojo walks around the kitchen in nothing but boxers.

You’re awkwardly standing in the hallway. You want to go back to your room and hide out until he leaves, but you’re already running late for class. Briefly, you think about keeping your head locked on the ground and slinking out the door. Maybe, if you’re lucky, he won’t notice you. 

You aren’t that lucky. 

Gojo looks at your miserable figure. There’s no embarrassment about how little he’s dressed. No apologies. No stutters that will make you feel the tiniest bit human. He bares his white teeth as he smiles. 

“‘Morning, roomie!” He chirps. 

You repeat the pleasantry with far less enthusiasm. You avoid looking at him directly, preferring to look at the counter, the floor, the refrigerator, anywhere that didn’t have Gojo in it. 

This was normal, you kept repeating to yourself. This is his house. You’re practically a squatter. He should be comfortable in his own home. He should wear whatever he wants. 

Besides, now you can make the most of your situation. You first considered skipping breakfast, given his situation. Now that the worst has happened, you could grab an apple or something. 

You slip past him. You think Gojo is making some type of smoothie, but you refuse to look directly at him to confirm. The fruit basket is right at your fingertips. You start to swipe the first one you can grab before making your escape.

Something presses against your back, caging you against the counter. You freeze. You feel hard muscle as Gojo reaches up to mess with the cabinets. 

“Sorry.” Gojo casually excuses, rifling through the shelves. “I’ll just be a second.”

One second. 

Five seconds. He’s still there. Your knuckles are white from how hard you’re gripping the counter. 

“Gojo–” 

“My music didn’t bother you last night, did it?” He asks. 

For a second, you wonder if that’s why he was doing this. Maybe you had offended him earlier with your complaint. But you don’t hear any resentment in his voice. He sounds cheerful. 

Delighted, even. 

“No,” you say, “it was fine.” 

He hums. When he finally pulls away, you get your autonomy back. You scramble away from the counter, not wanting to get caught again. 

“That’s good,” He says, “I’m glad you were upfront about this. We’re roommates! No use in hating eachother, right?” 

Temporary roommates, you correct in your head. 

“Also, we should use our first names from now on, roomie.” Gojo continues. “We should speak more comfortably.” 

Fine, whatever. You just wanted to leave. 

He suddenly leans in so he’s eye-to-eye with you. You hadn’t noticed it before, but his gaze is intense. You try to back away, but there’s nowhere to go. 

“Say it.” He lowers his voice. “Sa-to-ru.” 

It feels like he’s mocking you, but you can’t seem to find the joke. 

“Satoru,” you obey. 

He smiles. 

“Yeah.” He pulls away. “Just like that.” 

⌂

After a couple of washes, you finally notice its absence. 

It wasn’t the most expensive of your collection, but it was still pretty pricey. You liked the silk material and the dark red color. It was your favorite pair of panties. 

You skulk around the apartment, hoping it just fell from the basket. That, or the washer ate it. You tried not to think of the other option. 

 Days pass, and you give up searching. You decide to forget about it. You have other pairs. It’s not the end of the world. 

A part of you thinks about asking Satoru, but you’re quickly squashing it down. No way would you willingly ask him something so embarrassing. You just toss it to the back of your mind, hoping it will just show up again. 

And then, Satoru invites you into his room.

It’s not exactly an invitation. When you’re trudging home from class, he pops out from his room, excitedly telling you about a TV show before you’re being dragged inside. You’re not a big fan of the genre, and you have no interest in the show. It doesn’t matter to Satoru. You’re forced to sit on his bed as the characters on screen follow the script. 

He’s doing that a lot lately. Interrupting. Invading. You keep brushing off the thought that he’s testing you, somehow. 

“Roomie, this guy is so annoying.” Satoru comments. “Don’t worry, he dies in the next episode, so you don’t have to suffer for long.” 

You say nothing as he casually spoils the show for you. Honestly, you couldn’t care less. You were getting a little bored. Your eyes wander around his room. It’s cleaner than you thought it’d be. A few clothes are scattered around. A college hoodie hangs off the door. There are all sorts of papers on his desk, each is covered in meaningless algorithms you can’t decipher, and you suddenly remember he’s a physics major. You ask about maybe getting some math help from him later on, before you’re brushing that thought away. 

There’s a snap of fingers. Your gaze drifts back to Gojo. 

“Roomie, pay attention!” He whines, urging you back to the screen. 

There are only 10 minutes of the show left. Fine, you sit there, counting down the minutes until you can make your escape. 

Satoru’s hand brushes the edge of your bare thigh. 

He’s not exactly touching. You two are sitting pretty close. He was just sitting comfortably, resting his weight on his hands. It’s barely a touch, but it’s there. You can feel his fingers on your skin. 

He doesn’t move his hand back. It’s more likely because he doesn’t notice, you convince yourself. You’re overthinking things again. 

He shifts. His hand slips even closer. 

When you try to open your mouth, he hushes you with a, “This is the best part!” and all the courage leaves your body again. 

It feels like hours until the credits finally roll. Satoru steps off the bed to turn off the TV, and you make your move too, eager to find refuge in your room. 

“Oh yeah.” His voice stops you in your tracks. “What did you want to talk about earlier?” 

You stare. It feels crazy to bring up what happened just now. See? He didn’t even notice. 

But now, you have nothing to say, and saying nothing feels like a lie. 

“Did you see something in your laundry?” You blurt out before you can even think. 

Satoru encapsulates a picture-perfect replication of an innocent doe. He tilts his head in confusion. 

“Like what?” He asks. 

Dark red panties, with just the hint of lace. You can’t say it. You just can’t. 

“I think we might’ve swapped some clothes.” You unhelpfully murmur. “If you see anything…just let me know.” 

He nods. “Sure thing, Roomie!” He calls to you as you hurry back into your room and lock the door. 

Soon, Satoru’s actions turn less ambivalent. 

Sometimes, you’d hear him once or twice in the middle of the night. He’s loud. The walls thankfully muffle most of it, but you know what he’s doing. You usually just plug in your headphones and try not to look at him the next day. So far, things have worked out pretty well. 

Today, his door is wide open as he jerks off. 

You’re standing right next to your own door, mouth agape, forced to listen to his moans and babbles for five minutes. You’re already late for class.

But you can’t bring yourself to even open your door. 

To get out of the apartment, you’d have to cross Satoru’s room. The one that is currently open, where you’d see him stroking his dick. 

You know this is going too far. You needed to fucking do something already. There’s no way you can be kept a prisoner in your own home. 

And yet, you stay, forced to listen to him openly masturbate. 

“Fuck yes,” you can hear him say over and over again. “Just a little more, pretty girl. C’mon, just a bit–there we fucking go.” 

He’s talking to someone. No, that’s not right. He’s fantasizing about someone. 

More babblings and you’re squeezing your eyes shut as he comes. He curses again, and you stand there until you no longer want to melt into the floor. 

A few minutes later, you’re stomping around the room, trying to be as noisy as possible. You loudly adjust your bookbag and fiddle with your chair. You try to give him as much time as possible. 

By the time you come out, the apartment is back to normal. His door is still open. You stare straight ahead, ignoring the clear invitation to look as you pass his room. 

“Hey, Roomie.” Satoru casually calls from his place on the bed. 

You nearly trip over your own feet. Satoru gives a hiss. 

“You good?” He asks. 

No. 

“Yes.” You adjust your bag. “Just tripped.” 

“Okay.” You hear him shift. His bed creaks under the weight. “Have fun at class, pretty girl.” 

You slam the door a lot harder than you should. You were ten minutes late for class that day, but it doesn’t matter. As much as you tried to focus on your professor’s drones, your mind kept drifting to the name he called you right before you fled. 

No, no it couldn’t be. You needed to forget about it. 

Also, he was holding something in his hand. You didn’t know for sure, you didn’t want to stare but…

…it was a dark red piece of fabric. 

⌂

You like it when Satoru’s friends come over. They create a buffer between you and him. 

These days, you aren’t in the apartment as much. You’re out early. You come in late. You aren’t avoiding Satoru. You talk to him when he talks to you. You listen to whatever ramblings he has that day. You aren’t avoiding Satoru. 

Today is one of the few times he manages to catch you. Maybe you should count yourself lucky that he did it today, because Suguru was here. 

He lounges on the sofa as Satoru drags you behind him. Suguru barely glances up from his phone. He’s pretty used to Satoru’s antics. You aren’t. 

Satoru plops right next to his friend, picking up his remote. 

“Okay, we’re ready,” he says before frowning and glancing around. “There’s no more space.” 

He’s right. Both men are big, barely overcrowding the minuscule couch. You awkwardly loiter nearby as they both set up. You open your mouth, ready to say that you were fine with not joining, that you didn’t really care about a video game, no matter how awesomely Satoru described it. 

Satoru’s grin is filled with nothing but delight as he turns to you. 

“Here–” he eagerly pats his lap “–I've got plenty of space left, pretty girl.” 

You blanch, and his smile just grows wider. He starts to reach for you before his friend steps in. 

Suguru shoves him off the couch. Satoru dramatically collapses onto the floor. 

“Don’t be a dick.” Geto chides before motioning you to sit. 

You take a seat, with a relieved smile directed at Geto. Satoru grumbles from his spot on the floor, but he doesn’t try to move back as you thought he would. 

“I can’t believe you’re abusing me in my own home,” Satoru complains. “Where I pay rent.” 

“Your parents pay rent, you trust fund baby.” Geto is more than happy to refute. 

“Same thing.” Satoru rolls his eyes. “It’ll all go to me in the end.” 

Out of all of Satoru’s friends, Suguru seemed to have the biggest hold on his collar. They seemed close. Maybe their friendship had spanned years before college. You don’t know if anyone could bear to be around Satoru for that long, but maybe Suguru is that exception. 

You think you spend about an hour watching them play. You aren’t too interested in video games, much less combat games, but they seem to get a kick out of it. Eventually, Gojo demands to play with you. Geto relinquishes his remote to your reluctant hands, more than happy to go back to his phone. 

“Damn.” Satoru laughs as he kills you for the 4th time. “You’re bad at this.” 

You frown at the YOU LOSE on your side of the screen. 

“I haven’t played this before,” you respond. 

“I can tell.” 

He doesn’t seem particularly upset that his new gaming partner sucks. If anything, the more he kills you, the wider his smile gets. 

“We should place bets.” He suddenly pipes up. “However looses a round: strips.” 

You shrink. Geto rolls his eyes. 

“Satoru, stop bullying your roommate and play the game.” He leans back. “Let the poor thing breathe.” 

“Bullying?” Satoru sounds offended. “I’m joking. Y’know I’m joking, right?” 

He whirls around to look at you with wide eyes. You can’t tell whether he’s being genuine. You glance away. 

“Yeah.” You fiddle with the remote. “I know.” 

“See, it’s fine!” Instantly, Satoru forgets the game. He crowds into the couch to circle his arm around you, pulling you into his side. “You’re the only person who understands my humor, pretty girl.” He sighs. 

“This sounds more and more like a hostage situation.” Suguru idly comments. 

But when you look at him, really look at him, you can see the apathy clear in his eyes. 

Maybe that’s why they got along so well. 

“Shut up.” Satoru snaps. 

“You’ll tell me, though, right?” Satoru says as he snuggles even closer. “If I’m going too far?” 

You want him to get off of you. You know he knows, too. 

“I will.” You say instead. 

Satoru grins, continuing to swaddle you with his body. 

“See?” He blows a raspberry in Suguru’s direction. “My Roomie loves me.” 

⌂

Sometimes you prefer to be alone with Satoru. He just gets worse with more people around. 

The club he dragged you into was smoky, with the occasional lights that flicked and changed colors, illuminating the floor. It was crowded. Someone spilled a drink on the floor earlier that night. The sweet sticky scent lingered in the air. 

Satoru had brought a couple of other people too, more than happy to stuff the lot of you into his car before driving off. One of Satoru’s other friends, Shoko, was here somewhere. Suguru was here too, but you lost sight of him sometime back. You, standing against the wall, wonder if you could take a bus back to the apartment. 

The only person in your line of sight was Satoru. 

Earlier, he’d asked if you wanted to dance. You declined. You thought he’d make a bigger fuss out of it, like usually he does when you don’t fully accommodate him. Instead, he shrugged off your rejection, casually tossing over his shoulder to ‘join in at any time’. 

Someone else was with him. She was shorter than him, even with the heels. You watch as she drags manicured nails across his arms as he leans down to kiss her. You doubt they know each other. Satoru’s just like that. Overly friendly. 

It reminds you of all the people he brings over for ‘late-night study sessions’. Apart from the noise, you don’t mind the girls and guys. Most of them are pretty nice. They actually give you a lot of relief whenever you see them. For a second there, you thought that the reason Satoru was doing this to you was that he–

So yes, the people he brings over are a nice thing. 

Someone clears his throat. 

You don’t recognize him. His grin is sheepish. Polite, you smile back. 

The small talk is a bit awkward at first. It’s hard to hear him with the screaming crowd and music. You two exchange names. He comments on the phone case you have, claiming his sister likes that character too. He perks up when he says something that makes you laugh. 

“Did you come here with anyone?” He finally asks. 

“My roommate,” you offer, turning your head to point to Gojo. 

He isn’t there. Neither is the girl he danced with earlier. You wonder if he decided to ditch you and take her home. You don’t think you’d be surprised if he did. 

At the implication you aren’t seeing anyone, he asks: 

“Can I get you a drink?” 

You think you’re about to refuse. You know Satoru and the rest of his group will be drunk by the time the night ends. You’re pretty sure the only reason you were dragged along was to play babysitter and drive them home. 

You open your mouth for a polite rejection. 

Satoru does it for you. 

He was fast. You hadn’t noticed him until he was putting himself right between you and your conversational partner. 

Satoru’s smiling. It doesn’t look friendly. 

“Hey man,” Satoru casually says, “the fuck are you doing?” 

He can read between the lines, something you’re grateful for. Within seconds, the stranger is hurrying off. Lucky, you think to yourself, watching his back disappear into the crowd. Satoru lets him go so easily. 

Unlike you. 

He turns on you almost immediately. You want to sink into the wall. 

“We’re going.” He finally says. 

You pliantly nod, letting him lead you out the seedy club. Only when you get to his car do you realize he meant just you and him. 

“What about–” You cut yourself off when you see his eyes. 

Dark. They no longer resemble the color of cloudless skies. Now, they’re more like thunder and rain. 

You’ve never seen him more furious than the entire time you’ve known him. 

You remain silent as you slip into the passenger seat, tucking yourself into the seatbelt. Satoru starts the car with a distinct rumble. The locks click into place. 

You’ve always known Gojo to be an erratic driver. Tonight feels even worse. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s squeezing the steering wheel. The car keeps speeding up and up, careening past the speed limit. You can hear your heartbeat thudding in your chest. 

And Satoru? 

Satoru looks like he’s about to murder someone. 

“Who was that?” His voice is cold, devoid of all the playfulness he had earlier tonight. 

“I don’t–” 

“Who the fuck was he?” He demands. 

You flinch, and your hands curl into fists to keep them from shaking too much. You can’t do anything but stare into the window, watching the night sky dwindle past with all the other cars on the highway. 

“I didn’t know him.” You weakly tried to defend, even if you didn’t know why. Your instinct was to placate. “He just came up to me, and we started to talk.” 

He laughs. It’s dry, bitter, and sardonic. 

“Okay.” He tells you, turning the wheel so sharply that you press further into the door. “I let you outta’ my sight for two seconds, and you’re letting some fucker feel you up?” 

“I–” 

“What’d you two talk about?” He demands. “Did he ask if he could touch your pussy? If he did, you would’ve let him, right? I mean, you were practically throwing yourself at him like a slut, so maybe the guy thought he had a chance.” 

It hurts to breathe. Something stings in your eyes as your vision blurs. 

No one has ever said such horrible things to you before. 

“Nothing like that happened.” You insist. Why was he doing this? Why was he acting like this? “Please just–” 

“Shut up.” He snaps back. “What, you seriously thought anyone would fall for the shit you pull? You think he actually cared for you? Don’t make me laugh. He only wanted your tits and holes.” 

The words Satoru barks out are mean and vulgar. Your body freely shakes, you press yourself further up against the door, feeling tears stream down your cheeks. Satoru’s voice only softens when your hiccups and sobs fill the car. 

“Baby, no, I–I didn’t mean that shit.” His voice is oddly strained. You feel fingers brush against your neck, but you only shift away. 

You didn’t want to be in that club. You didn’t want to talk to that man. You didn’t want to get into Satoru’s car. You just wanted to go home. 

He can’t even let you have that. 

“No, pretty girl, it’s okay,” Satoru comforts, “Don’t–don’t cry–Fuck fuck.” 

The car slows to a stop right in an abandoned parking lot. Satoru kills the engine, letting the car hum into silence. Whatever happens, you think it will happen now. At this very moment. You prepare yourself for the worst, squeezing your eyes shut.

But it’s even worse. 

There’s a hiss of a zipper. Your eyes open just in time to see Satoru pull out his dripping cock. 

He’s already hard. His cock curves up, almost touching the steering wheel as he wraps his fingers around the base. The tip is painfully swollen as beads of pre-cum leak down his cock. Veins bulge against his skin as he frantically pushes his hand up and down. 

Your fear melts straight into horror as you stare at him. He’s staring right at you, desperately pumping his cock with his hand. The worst part is his eyes–wide, blown out like he’s high. He looks right at you like he wants to eat you alive. 

You’re immediately reaching for the handle. No matter how much you tug, the car won’t open. You’re trapped there, forced to watch as your roommate jerks himself off in front of you because your crying turned him on. 

Your sobs quieten. All you can hear in the car is his moans and the words he mouths, your name over and over again.

You think the worst part is that he still tries to talk to you, to comfort you. 

“You’re okay–you’re okay, baby.” He’s spitting the words out through his teeth as his hand throttles his pulsing dick. “Lemme–lemme–can’t help m’self–just–”, 

You flinch when he comes. His cock spurts white cum all over his hands. 

You’re fully silent. The only thing you can hear is his heavy breathing as he cleans up. 

You think he’s about to reach for you. His fingers never make contact. 

You stare out the window. Everything’s dark. Nobody was around. No one was around to see you. To hear you. 

Even if someone was around…what could you say? 

“Can we go home, please?” 

There’s a sharp inhale.

“Sure.”  The affection in his tone makes you nauseous. 

You close your eyes.

“Anything for you, pretty girl.” 

⌂

Ten minutes later, you’re still twiddling your fingers in the waiting room. 

Getting this appointment had been excruciatingly difficult. Constant last-minute cancellations. Reschedules. It felt like they were trying to deter you from entering the housing office. 

They promised you this was a temporary arrangement. You were only supposed to be at Satoru’s place for a month, maybe even less. But then one month turned to two. Two months turned to three. You don’t think you’d last another day in that apartment. 

He was getting worse each day. It was only a matter of them until he—

A man steps into the lounge. He’s tall and lanky, carrying a smile that screams dismissive. You perk up as he squints at you. When he calls your name, you immediately rise, following him into the back of his office. 

It’s stuffy. There are papers everywhere. You squish into a chair just before he starts talking. 

It’s the usual stuff. You spell out your name, and he pulls up your housing account. He squints at the computer. 

“You said this was a temporary assignment?” He asks. 

You eagerly nod, straightening your posture. 

“Yes,” you say. “My roommate wasn’t supposed to have another one, but there was a mix-up and—“

“No.” He taps on the screen. “You said it was temporary, but here it says it’s permanent.” 

You swallow. 

“What?” 

He messes around with his mouse for a bit. Your hands feel strangely clammy. 

“Ah, here it is.” He cleared his throat. “It says you came in a month ago wanting to make the change. I see your and your roommates' signatures. You must have come here a while ago.” 

You struggle to find the words. 

“I don’t—“ 

“In any case, it’s too late to change anything now. The deadline for reassignment passed weeks ago.” He gives you a sympathetic look that strangely cuts deep into your skin. 

“Are you and your roommate having issues?”

You think about the truth. 

“No,” you hear yourself say. “Everything is fine.” 

You don’t remember much after that. You think you were polite as you stood up. You think you shook his hand. You think you walked out of his stuffy office and out of that stifling building. Everything is a blur until you step into the sunlight, feeling it beat down your face. 

You don’t want to go back to the apartment. You still feel too raw, too fresh. 

You don’t have any classes left for today. You can’t hide out on campus. Satoru will find you. He always finds you. Maybe you should stay at a friend’s place and recuperate. 

Right, you don’t have any friends. Satoru made sure of that. 

Briefly, you think about going to the police. Could you maybe use them as a buffer somehow? At the very least, it might scare him from taking this any further. 

But then you glance over at the campus buildings. The name Gojo flashes brightly in the sun. 

You aren’t stupid. You may not know his family all that well, but you know the influence of his background. There is a reason his campus apartment is thrice the size of everyone else’s. There is a reason he wasn’t supposed to have a roommate in the first place. 

He is everything. He has everything. 

You are nothing. You have nothing. 

When you arrive at the apartment ten minutes later, Satoru is already lounging on the couch. 

He excitedly waves you over. When you get inside striking range, he reaches out, pulling you onto the cushions. You pretend not to notice the way he breathes in your scent as you settle on the sofa. An arm wraps around your body, pushing you into his side. 

“Where were you, roomie?” Satoru whines. “Didn’t class end an hour ago?” It would be a harmless question if his grip weren’t so tight. You won’t be surprised if you find a bruise there in a day or two. 

Something plays on the TV. Neither of you pays attention. 

“Sorry.” It’s all you can muster to say. 

He seems satisfied with your answer–the submission of it. You find yourself counting down the clock. Seven minutes go by before you speak up again. 

“Satoru?” You ask.

There’s a distant hum of an answer. 

“Did you tell Housing I was staying?” 

For the longest while, Satoru does not speak. Then, he relaxes. He groans, easily delving into your space. A hand rests on your thigh. 

“Oh, that.” There’s a yawn. “Yeah, I just went ahead and told them you didn’t need to move out. We were getting along so well, ‘makes no sense why you’d get a different apartment, right? Sounds like a hassle moving halfway through the semester.” 

Then he shifts. You can feel him stare right down at you. 

“Unless you have a problem with that?” 

He doesn’t even bother to hide it. Pure excitement. 

Was there ever a possibility you could’ve come out unscathed had you just stood up to him earlier? Maybe you should’ve been a bit less timid when speaking to him about his music. Maybe you should’ve commented on his lack of clothing around the house. 

Or maybe it was always going to end up this way. 

“No.” You tell him, staring straight at the TV. “I don’t have a problem with that.” 

A couple of days later, another pair of panties goes missing. 

Unlike last time, you don’t bother looking for it. 

⌂

You always locked your door at night, but looking back, it was stupid to assume Satoru didn’t have a spare key. 

This is his apartment, after all. 

The lock gives with barely a click. You’re already wide awake, body rigid, tucked underneath the covers as hallway light bleeds into the room. You’re facing the textured wall, watching as his shadow drifts into your bedroom. The door shuts in a way that sounds final. It’s dark again. 

He’s quiet. You can barely hear the sounds of his breath. There’s a footstep. Then, another. Eventually, he’s right behind you. 

You don’t know what he was doing. You’re too scared to turn and check. Naively, you think if you pretend to be asleep, he’ll leave. 

One minute. 

Two minutes. He’s so still, for a moment, you wonder if you imagined the whole thing. 

The edge of your blankets lifts. Your bed creaks under his weight. His chest presses against your back. Warm hands grasp your shoulders. 

He’ll leave eventually. If you pretend to be asleep, he’ll leave. 

You squeeze your eyes shut when his head nuzzles into the crook of your neck. He inhales. 

Fingers play with the ends of your shirt. 

He’ll leave soon. He’ll leave soon. He’ll leave–

“You’re not gonna stop me, are you?” His voice makes your shoulders tense. You can practically hear his smile. 

His fingers manage to slip under your shirt. You can barely hold in your gasp when he grabs a handful of your tits. He doesn’t even bother to be gentle, squeezing and pulling until you’re practically whining. 

“C’mon.” Satoru coos into your ear. There’s a kiss on your neck. “Say it. Tell me no.” 

He nibbles the skin right on your jawline. His hair tickles your cheek. 

Your hands reach out to grab his own. You squeeze, digging your nails into his skin. 

“Please stop.” 

He laughs–the kind of laugh you’d give to a toddler if they misbehave. It feels so mean. 

“You’re so cute.” Another kiss right at your ear.

“Stop.” You repeat. His hands don’t budge, not even when you start to draw blood. “Let go. Don’t–don’t touch me–” 

He flips you right on your back. From the streetlights peaking through the blinds, you can see his face. The widest smile is stretched over his pretty lips. It looks almost manic. 

Your eyes sting. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. It’s almost cruel how soft his voice is. 

You shake your head. His teeth gleam. 

“Please?” He leans closer. “Just one kiss?” 

It’s heartbreaking how sweet the kiss is. Soft, barely touching as he melds his lips with yours. He keeps a hand on your chin, holding you in place before the greed takes over and he ravages you. 

By the time he pulls away, your lips are bitten and bruised.

He sinks lower, face dipping into the skin of your neck as he makes himself home there. It’s laughingly pathetic how weak you were compared to him–how little you fare when he pulls off your shirt, then your shorts. Soon, his clothes join yours, leaving a small puddle of cloth at the foot of your bed. 

He pulls away from your body, looking over the whole of you. 

“Oh, baby.” His eyes are blown out like he’s high. “I…I just wanna do everything to you.” 

You can’t hold back the tears anymore. They drip down your face, sculpting your cheeks. He coos, sinking lower to pepper your face in kisses. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” The excitement in his voice betrays him. “Don’t cry. I won’t do anything bad, I promise.” 

Liar, you want to call him, but you don’t. You can’t. Your throat traps your voice as his fingers delve underneath your panties. 

There’s no tact as he presses into you, immediately filling you up with his finger. Your pussy can barely fit one of him, almost choking when he slips in another. There’s no rhythm, no grace for how fragile you are as he thrusts his fingers deeper and deeper. 

You can barely muffle your cries as he hits a spot deep inside you. 

“See?” he asks, toying with your clit. “Not bad things, right?” 

You don’t answer, barely able to keep the noises in check as he abruptly pulls out of you. His fingers are shiny from your pussy juices. He crudely wipes his fingers on your tits. 

You’ve seen his cock before, but it looks even bigger from this angle. It slaps against your inner thighs as he finishes yanking off your drenched panties. The mushroom-tipped head brushes against your slit. He tosses one of your legs over his shoulder, opening your hole just enough to get his cock in the perfect position. 

The fight comes in too late. You think you’re reaching up to claw at his face, those pretty blue eyes. 

It dies as he bottoms out inside your pussy in one thrust. 

He doesn’t wait for you to settle down; he’s not kind enough for that. As soon as his cock sits as deep as it can into your pussy, he’s immediately moving. Your abused cunt immediately tightens around his cock, almost like you’re trying to suck him back in. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel Satoru collapse on top of you. His head drops into the crook of your neck. You can hear his ragged breaths as he fucks himself deeper and deeper into you. 

“‘need you to relax for me, baby.” He hisses like it’s your fault he can’t control himself. “Can–can barely fit into this cunt.” 

To emphasize his words, he reaches down. There’s a soft slap right on your clit. You yelp. He soothes you with gentle circles with his thumb. 

“Satoru,” you can barely get out from the pressure, “please just stop–” Another smack on your pussy. Harder. 

“Can’t stop.” His breaths are ragged, and his hips shift so he can plow into you at a different angle. “Can’t ever stop. Not when I know how good you feel.” 

There’s a rasp of a laugh as your own noises get louder and louder. Your back arches. Something hot writhes in your belly the more the fucks you. He’s gripping your waist so harshly that you know they’ll leave bruises. 

It’ll pair well with the clawmarks you leave on his back as you arch further into his raw cock. 

There’s a sharp hiss before he’s kissing you again. There’s a harsh thrust that makes you moan directly into his mouth. He reluctantly pulls away, licking the taste of you out of his mouth. 

“I’m so glad I found you.” He tells you, continuing to ram into your pussy. 

“Can’t even imagine how–how someone else would react to you just givin’ yourself to ‘em. Fuck, even thinkin’ about it makes me wanna kill someone.” 

Distantly, you think about all the times you could’ve stopped him. You think about what you could’ve done differently to never cross paths with a man like Gojo Satoru. 

“You’re all for me.” He sighs, leaning close so he’s whispering right in your ear. 

He wants you to hear this right before he makes you cum all over his cock. 

“It’s all you’ll ever be.” 

You're writhing against his cock as he forces you through an earth-shattering orgasm. Your pussy clenches hard around him, milking him for all he’s worth as your climax is reluctantly dragged out of your exhausted body. 

There’s a grunt, then a sigh as something fills you to the brim. His cock pumps his cum steadily into you. There’s so much your poor pussy can’t keep it all inside. It leaks crudely from your hole. 

He stays like that for a minute, breathing you in as you start to come down from your high. Then, Satoru flops to your side, gathering up in your arms. You’re forced to lie against his chest, listening to his quickening heartbeat. 

The anger comes too late to do anything about. 

“I hate you.” You hiss as he continues to cuddle you. “I hate you, I hate you–you sick, twisted–”

“Aw, you don’t gotta’ pretend to be mean with me, pretty girl.” Satoru coos, snuggling into your exhausted figure. You can feel the hard shape of his cock press right against your thigh. 

There’s a chaste kiss on the top of your head. 

He’s watched its construction for the last handful of weeks. Incessant drilling and the cacophonous melody of power tools has made his evenings pumping iron less than pleasant, and his ears ache from how far he has to shove his earbuds into the canal to drown out the noise. The only reason he started coming here was because of his sleeping issues—how his body seems too high strung to relax when the moon rises—and it’s been disrupted by inconsiderate construction workers. Now, every bastard in a high-vis vest has vanished, leaving him alone with nothing but the bar clasped in his palms and the lingering sillage of sawdust. 

For a few more weeks, the room stands empty. It’s nothing special. Nothing that he believes should harbor more of his attention than has already been stolen. Floor to ceiling glass windows offer little privacy for the pinewood floors and dazzling mirrors that line the walls. It is an abandoned box. It haunts the gym with no heart to hold. 

When no one is looking, he wanders through the unlocked door. He is met with only the sound of his running shoes echoing off of the pristine floor and the never-ending image of himself pasted upon the walls. He sees himself from every angle. From the side, like a bystander. From above, like an omniscient god. It only gets worse when the automatic lights trip and flicker to life, buzzing like the dying breath of an animal caught in the constricting ribcage of fear. 

Johnny stares at himself as if he were a stranger. He scrutinizes the tattoo on his forearm and the stretch of his compression shorts over his thighs. Angry fingernails dig into the pink keloid by his temple. His skin buzzes at the bump. Hair follicles attempt to press through the scar tissue, but it follows the old fracturing of his skull. It dies in a star pattern that leaves him naked—a warrior without a weapon. 

As his feet cross the threshold back into the weight room, Johnny promises himself he will never traverse back into that box again. 

On Monday, the room is full. 

Women clad in elastic garments sprawl out on the floor on multicolored mats as they stretch. Their appearance stops Johnny in his tracks, leaving him to stare through the thin window that separates them apart. Yoga, he realizes. The awkward positions and instructor towards the front has his skin squirming within its own confines. There are too many eyes. They echo through the mirror—they all find him. 

Deciding to spend his evening on the other side of the gym, Johnny starts off with cardio. It’s the only way he can satiate the need to flee from wandering gazes without actually vanishing. It’s the only way he can drown out the solicitude that lurks too deep for him to reach in and claw it out. 

Peeved that he has to now change his whole routine, Johnny grumples through the night as he packs up his water bottle and slugs towards the exit. As his feet tread, he reminds himself to request the class schedule for the room from the front desk. He wants to avoid the eyes. The gazes. The pupils that pierce through him worse than a bullet. 

Johnny freezes when he sees something spinning. 

There, through the thin veil, you dance. Rhythmic and fluid. Like a babbling river. Like blood dribbling from a wound. Propped up en pointe, you pirouette with your arms above your head and your head snapping in spinning circles, eyes keeping contact with yourself through the mirror. He witnesses the way your chest expands with a huff—how you refuse to rest before attempting the move again. 

You see him in the mirror. Standing behind you, pack slung over his shoulder as if it were heavy enough to be a rifle. He sees you see him. 

Ignoring him as if he is nothing more than a trick of the light, you continue with your practice. 

Johnny can’t sleep at night. The image of you burns too deeply into his retinas, and he can’t shake you loose. You’re lodged in his psyche. Trapped deep in the tissue of his brain where you nettle—making space for yourself. A bed of brain matter. He envelopes you too readily. His body holds you home and it screeches whenever he attempts to yank you out like a weed from the earth. 

So you spin. 

And spin. 

The next time he goes to the gym, he brings his sketchbook. 

Really, he’s not sure why he lugs the thing around. The only thing it’s full of is pain—bleeding ink that soaks each page like blood on cement. That book harbors the residue of each gun he’s shot and the soil of every country his boots have kissed. It holds the memories of the places he can’t return to. The man he used to be before he was fractured beyond repair. 

Now, he uses it to record you. Committing your image with his pencil, he sits on the bench press closest to the window as you practice again while the night waxes away from the evening. He sketches the curve of your pointe shoes, the delicacy of your fingers as you hold your arms out on either side of your torso—you’re printed onto paper as you present an arabesque with trembling calves and quads. 

Throughout it all, you do not recognize him in the mirror behind you. You give him no hint that you are aware of his presence besides a quiet flickering of your eyes in the reflective surface before you continue to glissade across glistening floors.

It isn’t until the second week of this—of this new routine Johnny has found himself in—that he realizes he never sees you enter or exit the room. 

You’re always there, appearing out of thin air the moment the area is vacated by the yoga class or anyone else who wishes to lurk within those four, painful walls. He blinks, and you’re there, dancing through the windows like a collector’s doll stuck in the confines of her box for all of eternity. Never to be embraced. Never to be loved. Only made to be gawked at while chained down by your hands and wrists, unforgiving zip ties digging into your skin like a honed edge. 

It’s then that Johnny begins to question if he’s seeing things again. Factitious things. After he was discharged (bullet buzz, buzz, buzzing through his skull, cold cement on his cheek, blood, drip, drip, dripping from his teeth), it was troubling to differentiate between what was real, and what was fabricated. Thoughts bleeding into reality—a clear ichor that only morphs his vision, but doesn’t obscure it. 

At home, his fingers brush over his artwork. Tenderly, as if he’s pasted your very flesh onto each page. He tells himself that you have to be real. The proof of it is in his very hands—it’s tangible. This book that holds your likeness. It would be impossible for his disconnected mind to dream up something as lovely as you. There is no morphing here. No shadows twist to contort and confuse his mind. 

He’s sure of it—

—until he isn’t. 

Once more, his sweet ballerina has come to perform for him—to haunt him. You spin before him like a music box doll, steady and without a care for the eyes piercing through the window to look at you. There is not a single soul in the building besides you and him. (If you even have a soul at all). The barrier that separates the two of you seems thinner than ever as he puts pencil to paper and inscribes your likeness as if he fears his mind might forget if there is no physical reminder to follow him home.

He soaks up the view of your feet. The way the arch curves beneath your body weight. The way sweat beads along your collarbones and the line of your forehead. He wonders if the brine is as tasty as it looks. 

When you stop to catch your breath, your eyes find Johnny in the mirror. Sitting, hunched forward on the bench, scribbling down in his journal. His heart ceases to beat, and the tip of his pencil stills against his paper as he straightens himself up. He would open his mouth to speak if it weren’t for the insufferable barrier that separates the two of you—keeping you confined to your own little worlds. Instead, he smiles. 

You stare right through him. 

You do not smile back. 

Johnny is incensed when you continue your routine. You leap through the air without a care in the world, and you leave him sitting there to wonder if you ever even saw him at all. No, you did. When he reaches up and touches his chest, he feels his shirt. He feels the blood pulsing beneath his fingertips. His hand presses forward and it doesn’t punch through his sternum because he’s real. 

He’s real. 

But are you real? Or are you some creature sent to torment him within the confines of his own mind? 

Slamming his journal shut, Johnny tosses it into his bag with a huff. Hot air passes from his nostrils like a bull ready to charge, and he struts up to the glass, so close that his nose nearly presses against it. Fog builds on the surface as his palm lies flat against it. It’s frigid to the touch. Standing, separating. The barrier that traps you is real and algid beneath his fingers. 

But are you real?

Metal bites into his skin as he twists the knob on the door to the room. He promised himself that he would never step foot in there again—where the eyes are plenty and his scar screams louder than he can—but he tells himself he has to know. It clicks quietly shut behind him only to be drowned out by the sound of your pointe shoes tapping against the pine at your feet. It echoes like a hushed prayer. It rattles his eardrum. Tangible. Real. 

But are you real?

Feverish skin bleeds through his hand when he grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks. Wild eyes look to him, and for the first time he’s able to see what they’re like without the barrier of a reflection to get in the way. Sweet lips part and he sees the way your teeth shine beneath the fluorescent lights that hang over your heads. 

“Excuse me?” 

Bitter. Sharp. Your question pierces through his eardrum and he smiles. Your voice. An alluring melody. His grip only grows more firm as you attempt to wrench yourself free from his grasp. 

Real. 

Your screams are just as corporeal as the rest of you. It reverberates off the walls of Johnny’s skull, and it forces his face to contort at the throb in his brain. Oh, how it aches. How it always aches. He muffles you with the palm of his hand flat against your lips and he presses until he feels your tongue. Rigid nails dig into his flesh as his forearm wraps around your throat and squeezes. He feels the sting of broken skin—real—and the pressure of dull teeth against his fingers—real—and hot tears along the back of his hand—real. 

It isn’t long before your body grows heavy. Johnny lays you on the floor like Ophelia in a river; Odette in the lake; Aurora in her bed. Limp limbs lie helplessly as he stares down at you and rakes trembling fingers over every inch of your body. Every curve he has committed to memory for the last few weeks is now here before him—tangible. 

“Real,” he says outloud. A tender thumb brushes against your split bottom lip. “You’re real. And I’m real. I made you real.” 

Johnny sleeps better now that he’s started going to the gym. Muscles melt just as they should the very moment his head hits his pillow, and his slumber calls to him without issue. Of course, it helps that he has his sweet ballerina to keep him company. Head propped up next to his, tear stains on your cheeks, and eyes squeezed tight as you rest soundly in his bed.

He reaches out and cups your cheek in the palm of his hand. Your skin twitches beneath him, but you do not stir. Grinning in the darkness of his bedroom, Johnny hums, content with his life. Content with knowing that you truly are real.