Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The waiting room was unusually quiet. Quiet enough that Fuma was sure that if he focused enough, he would be able to make out each faint tick of the clock. The seconds reverberated through the room as if swallowed by syrup, each tick slow, taunting him until the repetitive distraction of his game seemed to be drowned out by the ever-present nagging at the back of his mind—his thoughts pulled back until he was drowning. 

As welcoming as the wash of calm usually was, the absence of chaos felt stifling, only allowing each thought to grow louder, overlapping until they spilt over in a wave. Echoes of insecurity overlapped, shouting louder until Fuma’s own inner peace finally returned the moment Taki decided to stir Harua up from his rest, cutting through the noise.

Some days it was less taxing—back-to-back schedules melded together in a blur of music shows and variety appearances. Easier to be numbed by monotony than to deal with the mental toll and preparation some other schedules gave. Unfortunately, it never ended—promotions overlapped into unending appearances, variety programs, and Fuma almost forgot what the comfort of his bed truly felt like. Instead, he just craved, silently, because he knew he shouldn’t, not as an Alpha, craved the comfort of a nest, the comfort of his pack. 

Fuma never truly acted as an Alpha, not like Euijoo or even Yuma did. He led them, took charge and filled that role when needed. But not as an Alpha. It was easier to step back, distancing himself as much as he could from the title, preferring to shrink into the shadows and let the others take over the moment sub-genders were mentioned. 

It at least worked for Fuma. He had hidden that he was an Alpha almost since he presented, scent patches and a personality quiet enough that it was easy to let the others' rambunctiousness take centre, attention pouring onto them. Hiding wasn’t uncommon. Some companies used it to their advantage, creating groups around that image, pushing as many concepts as they could out of it. Fantasies always sold well; there was always an appeal for the unknown, for fans to be able to press whatever image or wish they wanted onto them. He felt lucky that their concept banked on letting that fantasy sell. Hiding behind it where he could. 

That aspect was easy. Interviews were harder. It felt almost impossible to avoid the topic, no matter how much Fuma tried to brush off the questions, especially as the other members' sub-genders slowly became revealed, unwilling or not. Even despite not being the only member with an unknown sub-gender, he felt the push, the questions that would be subtle enough for Fuma to know they were prying for hints. 

Fans tended to question more. Fuma never admitted it, that he’d feel a flutter in his chest when he’d see fans debate their genders, that there would be a small few who thought he wasn’t an Alpha. That would call him an Omega, and his chest would tighten with a feeling he was too scared to dig into, ignoring the simmering sensation of satisfaction that he pushed along down with everything else.

For a long time, he wasn’t sure what the cause of the ever-present fear of being discovered—the feeling of something displaced and wrong wasn’t new. He remembers waking up before school, dripping in sweat as the licks of his first rut began to overtake his body. The bitter taste of panic and disappointment was almost as overwhelming as the heat that clouded everything else. The feelings only grew, the disdain and wrongness. It took time, searching, to eventually allow himself to begin to understand his feelings, his wants, yet for so long it felt impossible to say it out loud. 

Part of Fuma wondered whether it was age or the unintentional, inherent need to care for his pack that would give him away. Occasionally, it would cross his mind to ask the others if sometimes they felt like crawling out of their skin; however, the thought of delving deeper into the paranoia that loomed over him about his sub gender being revealed was not something he ever wanted to touch. 

Instead, he let the thoughts drift by, carried away by the current until all he could do was desperately gasp at distractions to keep his worries at bay. 

It grew harder to focus on his switch, the world too loud, his thoughts louder; the sprites on the screen blurring as his attention kept getting pulled away. Instead, he watches. Watches as the others ran through vocal warm-ups, voices growing louder as they bickered, layering the sounds enough that it was the only thing his head had space for. 

“Are you okay?” 

Fuma hadn’t noticed Yudai's approach, unable to help the small jolt as he felt a snack pressed to his thigh and the soft puff of air against his cheek as Yudai leaned in to whisper a soft greeting. He hums appreciatively as he takes the gummies from Yudai’s hands, bringing them closer as he lets the switch fall into his lap. The battle was still loaded, untouched for the last 10 minutes; the screen dimmed. He was sure Yudai had noticed. 

“I’m okay,” his tongue felt heavy, too large as he finally found the strength to even part his lips to speak. Fuma could feel the roughness of his voice, the soft rumble that was usually only there when he woke up. “Just tired.” 

“It shouldn’t be much longer,” Yudai said, bumping their knees together as he pressed a little closer, barely glancing Fuma’s way to see if he noticed. “You could still nap?”

Fuma shook his head. “No point, I’ll try to sleep in the car later, it’s fine.”

“I’m just glad it’s the last schedule for today. I think I’m still jetlagged.” 

“Jetlagged?” Fuma chuckled, short and airy, his voice coming to an infection at the question. “The time difference is barely an hour.”

“We still have another pre-recording tomorrow morning.”

“But at least it’s not at four again,” Yudai quips, bumping his shoulder against Fuma’s, “I can’t remember the last time our time slot was after seven.” 

“We still have to be there around six.”

“Only for a fan meeting.”

Fuma hummed, shifting in the seat until he was more upright, never pressing away, letting the heat from Yudai’s body wash through him like a current until all he could feel was the burn of where they touched. Yudai made no move to speak, content with how they were sitting—both ignoring the vaguely subtle glancing back and forth. Fuma liked to take it as a sense of stability, close enough in understanding that this was enough. 

He brings his concentration back to his switch, waking it back up as he wordlessly resumes the battle, the rhythmic tapping chasing away the silence that had settled in their small bubble. 

“Jo and Yuma have already started planning their delivery order,” Fuma finally says, glancing up from his game towards the two, their conversation drifting over as Yuma’s voice only grew louder, towering over a flustered Jo. 

“What about you?” 

“I don’t know,” Fuma shrugs, sitting back as he mulls over the options, mind drifting too often to bother properly contemplating. 

“What are you battling?” Yudai replies instead, eyes widening in amusement as Fuma snaps back to attention. “Stuck?” 

“No, I was just distracted. I’m just trying to catch everything in the area for the Pokedex. I still have a titan and gym in the area I need to finish, but I’m trying to get more XP to level up before I try battling it.” 

Fuma knew Yudai was letting him ramble, finding small things to cling onto to drag himself out of the unending pit that was slowly swallowing him up. 

His parents did the same, before he was better at regulating his emotions, at suppressing the outbursts that would simmer in his stomach, clawing their way out until all he could do was curl up and hit his head until the world would stop being too loud, too wrong. They would press soft toys into his hands, then eventually his first Game Boy, mashing buttons as he controlled the small sprites on the screen, forgetting the world around him.  

“What titan is it?” 

“Lurking Steel,” Fuma replies, mashing the buttons as he continues his ramble, “it’s weak to fire, so I’m trying to level up my fire type.” 

“What level do you need?” 

Fuma could feel Yudai’s gaze, his cheeks burning as he pretended not to notice Yudai’s hand creeping closer again. His cheeks warm as fingers brushed against his leg, surely deliberate, but Fuma doesn’t let his concentration waver. He watched, briefly, through the corner of his eye as Yudai took the snack back, trying not to let his gaze linger on long slender fingers as they carefully tore through the plastic. 

“Maybe just a few more.” Talking did help; the spiral he was caught in finally loosened its grip as he clawed his way into the safety of Yudai’s warmth. “I’ve been working on the Pokedex rather than the main story lately, so I’m probably strong enough now, the gym wasn’t that hard…” 

Fuma let his voice trail off as his attention was quickly pulled back to the game, barely noticing the faint reply Yudai gave him. 

The switch was grounding at least. Thoughts snapped back as quickly as elastic, no longer stretched too thin as the battle came to an end and his focus was finally needed. The area in-game was new, unexplored. His fingers worked the buttons quickly, attention fully fixated back on the game, each press and flick of the toggles calculated and careful. 

Yudai was good at tapping at boundaries, at sitting on the edge until they eventually bent, snapped to his whims, and Fuma was good at letting himself fragment around the edges, moulding himself to whatever Yudai wanted. Refusal occasionally sitting at the edge of his throat, heavy and stiff and never breaching past his lips as he let himself be pulled into Yudai.

Fuma’s body stiffens as a gummy pressed to his lips, breath hitching for a moment, sharp and stuttered. His lips part, barely, just enough to take the sweet from Yudai, pulling it into his mouth. Fuma knew he should be used to the affection outside of their cycles; their pack wasn’t for show, the bonds ran deep, shared and mutual, but there was a careful barrier Fuma couldn’t knock down, self-constructed yet still impervious, even to himself. 

Yudai keeps feeding him in between his own bites, barely breaking the rhythm with the occasional giggle anytime they’d slip up. When Yudai tried feeding too many at once, the gummy slipping from Fuma’s lips and onto the switch or when Yudai pressed a little too hard, his fingers grazing against Fuma’s lip. Both pulling back, awkward giggles hiding Fuma’s heart racing and throat tightening with a type of want he knew he needed to bury as deep as he could. 

The door cracked open, shattering the small illusion Fuma seemed to create in his head. A staff member peeked their head through as they were instructed to get ready soon. The scramble of staff started the moment the door clicked back shut, Fuma barely registering what happened as he finally looked back up from the game, mouth still full of gummies as he glanced around.

“My Alpha is the cutest.” 

Yudai’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and Fuma wasn’t sure if it was exactly meant for his ears, but that didn't stop his heart from singing. It was bittersweet, as flushed as the compliment made him, the word Alpha still felt like a sharp needle digging deeper and deeper into his ribs, getting closer to his heart the longer Yudai looked at him. 

It was easier to press past, to pretend he didn’t hear anything, rather than busying himself with cleaning and helping the staff with prep. Thankful for the sudden rush to occupy himself as costumes were adjusted and hair set for a final time, and Fuma was an expert at distracting himself from any emotions that bubbled past a minor discomfort. Brushing off his behaviour with pre-performance nerves that started to eat at all of them, the closer they got to the stage. 

Music shows didn’t really ever vary, same same layout, the same repetitive structure that dragged on until Fuma could feel the seconds stretching and stress trickling out of every pore until he was drenched in it. It was still freedom, losing himself in their stages when they weren’t standing around, when his muscles ached and lungs burnt, and sub-genders didn’t matter. 

The rest of the recording went smoothly, passing by in a blur that occupied every part of Fuma’s consciousness. Yudai’s name no longer a lingering sweetness on his tongue. 

Adrenaline still coursing through him as he dragged his feet back into the waiting room, the sounds of cheers echoed in his chest, matching the steady beat of his heart. Staff rushing around him in a blur as his feet dragged to where he was seated before, his bag untouched, still leaning against Yudai’s. 

Cold air was always a reprieve after they stepped off the stage, the soft breeze that circulated the room calming the fire that flickered beneath his skin. 

He could feel the sweat clinging to him, the cool air drying into a sticky layer that Fuma wanted to scratch off. It was distracting; his focus was barely able to snap back to attention as he searched for a spare towel to dab around his neck, catching the drops of sweat. The world moved too fast, too loud, the staff’s hurried instructions sinking into his chest as he hurriedly packed his bag. 

The taste of panic began to settle on his tongue as he rifled through the pockets, his scent growing stronger as he searched for his perfume, unable to ignore the discomfort clawing at his chest. It wasn’t strong; the scent patches made sure of that, closer to the natural scent that was unavoidable after exertion, hiding in each bead of sweat and heavy exhale. Yet it was still something so Alpha; it made Fuma want to retreat into himself, hide from the musk that hung over his head like a sign. 

“Did you lose something?” Yudai asked, stopping his own packing as he turned to Fuma, eyes glancing around as if searching with him. 

“Just my perfume.” 

“Do you want some of mine?” Yudai held out a small bottle of perfume—it was gentle, slightly sweet and matched the floral undertones that broke through the smell of crisp rain and ozone. Like a subtle enhancement and so unmistakably Omegan. “I know the smell might be a little-” 

“Yes, please,” Fuma quickly interrupted, ignoring the sound of his heart racing in his ears as he took the perfume, his touch hesitant as they lingered for barely a moment, their fingers brushing.  

Yudai just smiles, turning away briefly, attention caught by the staff announcing their departure. Fuma’s heart doesn’t calm; it continues to hammer in his chest as he carefully sprays himself down, ignoring the way his chest tugs when he purposefully sprays over his scent patches. Bathed in sweetness and Yudai, and something so Omegan, his whole body sings with relief. The anxiety that knotted itself around his throat slowly began to unwind, loosening until his shoulders sagged and breathing evened out for the first time that day. 

The scent followed him back to the dorms, back to his room, where for a peaceful, brief moment, he could close his eyes and pretend this was him. That the sweetness coiling around his neck was his own, and for a second, the claws that gripped his heart loosened, and he believed it. It was tempting to stay, to curl up with a plush and let the sweet taste on his tongue, soothing him, but he felt the soft rumble of his stomach. 

Fuma leaves the perfume-coated patch on even after washing up, covered by a fresh hoodie that swallowed his figure, a soft, nagging desperation puppeteering his body as he announced his departure, ignoring the eyes he felt digging into his back, trying to carve a piece of him out. 

The walk wasn’t far, barely to the end of the street. Moths danced around the bright street lights, following the same tune as the wind, circling endlessly. His fingers twitched, pulling out his phone the moment the silence grew and his thoughts turned into a storm that beat against his skull. 

It was quiet at least, midnight inched closer, and the world fell asleep. The peace was welcome, the emptiness soothing. The store seemed empty as Fuma walked inside, the door chime echoing; a muffled greeting of a worker hidden behind boxes of stock was the only indication anyone else was around. 

Fuma doesn’t waste time; the looming reminder that sleep was scarce typically chased him in everything they did, only eager to hurry back to the dorm to sleep. Eyes watched him as he navigated the shelves quickly, the small pile of food carefully placed on the counter as the beta cashier shuffled back behind the register. 

“Hello, just these,” Fuma said, pushing the items a little closer before reaching for his wallet.

“Twelve thousand,” the beta replied, finally glancing up after ringing up the items, pausing as their glaze finally met. 

“Thank you.” 

“You have a nice scent,” the beta said, eyes searching as he tried to catch Fuma’s gaze. “Are you a foreigner?”

“Oh, thank you,” Fuma said quickly, trying to resist the urge to check whether his scent patch had begun to peel off, paranoia quickly sinking in. “Yes, I’m just visiting.” 

The lie was easier, Fuma wasn’t ignorant enough to not know the signs of being hit on, he could taste it in the air, see the subtle shifts in the beta’s behaviour. The panic subsided as the beta nodded along, at least the worry of his own scent peaking through; he could still feel the way the patch clung to his skin, the glue making his neck itch with every small movement. 

“It suits you, sweet and pretty like your eyes.” Fuma paused, the hints of interest coming off in waves from the beta burnt his nose, sharp and sudden. “Be careful, it’s late for an Omega to walk alone.” 

“I’ll be okay, thank you.” Fuma bowed, stiff and overly polite, his muscles taut as he turned for the door, trying to ignore his hammering heart slowly working its way up his throat. It sparked something inside of him, something new and consuming, and Fuma was fearful he’d get addicted. “Have a good evening.” 

Fuma could feel the beta's gaze follow him out of the store, his pace picking up as he walked back down the street. His heart raced; he could feel the vibrations reach through his body, crawling along his skin and pressing against his throat. He doesn’t run, feet dragging a little more, too lost in the wave of thoughts that crashed down the moment he stepped outside. 

As much as Fuma knew he struggled to pick apart his emotions, each stir in his chest or tug at something deeper inside usually meant an afternoon of mental gymnastics and enough self-reflection to warrant the rest of the day hidden away in isolation, the only light and sound coming from a game. The sudden surge of euphoria was too vibrant, blaring too brightly; it was all Fuma could taste in his mouth and feel as it embraced him. 

The knot in his throat didn’t leave, the word Omega ringing in his head like a bell, each echo as loud as the next. It took over, and for a second, no matter how brief, he felt complete. 

It followed him home, his feet moving as if he were floating, carefully dragged back down the street as his mind wandered, holding onto the lingering traces of that initial feeling. Holding it as deep as he could as he traced each line of it, memorising it until he stayed when he closed his eyes and washed off the rest of the day.

·༺༻𐫱༺༻·

The lingering traces of sleep still hadn't left his eyes, like a hazy layer as it clung to him, weighing his eyelids down as he blinked again in a feeble attempt to chase it away, to little success. Exhaustion seeped into every inch of his body; he could feel the weight in each step as he ambled towards the waiting car. The only reprieve was the promise that this would be their last recording. 

The sun hadn’t yet begun to peek over the horizon, the only light came from the streetlights and the last whispers of the moon as it made its way behind the looming buildings. 

It was one thing Fuma found himself missing about home, the coziness of the streets, devoid of highrises and the endless stretch Seoul seemed to have. He watched as the endless sea of buildings passed by, the streets empty apart from another lone car traversing down the same road. The dead of the morning was soothing at the least, a small reprieve from the chaos that would unfold the moment they stepped out of the car. 

Yudai pressed closer as Fuma leaned toward the window, the warmth of his leg burning through their pants until it was all his thoughts could focus on. The lingering scent from the morning clung to his clothes despite the scent patches and neutralisers that coated every inch of their skin; it was faint, barely a whisper, but Fuma noticed. 

He had noticed the change as it started to sweeten in the morning; the gentle fragrance filled the bathroom, lingering even after Fuma’s own shower. It was subtle, the shift, at first, Fuma didn’t pay mind. Forgotten quickly, then dampened by scent patches, and overshadowed by the rush to the salon. 

The thought slipped away as quickly as it came, the car finally finding itself on a familiar road as they approached the broadcasting station. Distractions only continued pulling him in different directions until he was stretched thin enough that the only thought he was able to focus on was each task that ran through his mind like a checklist. 

It wasn’t obvious, not until the stage finally came to an end, as they finally hurried back down the narrow stairs after the recording to wait for their return to the stage. The smell of pre-heat lingering in his sweat was undeniable as Yudai brushed against him; he could taste it sitting at the back of his throat, the smell of jasmine pushing through everything else. 

The day was at least slower than the last few; the earlier recording slot left more of the day spent sitting and waiting. It was mostly quiet once the cameras were off, content with the vlogs filmed and the couches occupied by bodies sprawled across them, curled up against each other as the others used their free couple of hours to catch up on sleep. 

Yudai wasn't ignorant of his own body; Fuma was sure it’d be presumptuous to assume Yudai needed to be told about the changes in his scent. Fuma had asked before what it felt like, how he could tell, when he had been silently watching Yudai organise his suppressants and heavier patches the moment his pre-heat had started in the middle of schedules he had no plans on missing. Yudai had only shrugged, pausing for a moment as his lips pressed into a pout before shrugging with a very unhelpful, ‘you just do,’ and Fuma chalked it up to an Omega thing. Letting the hints of something akin to jealousy sit in the pit of his stomach, ignoring it as it grew until he did what he did best and pushed it so far down, along with everything else.

Yudai’s preheat was as predictable as it usually was; they typically lasted a week, starting mellow as it ran its course, gradually making itself more known until it was all Fuma could think about. He knew the signs, the scent as if it were engraved into him. 

Fuma waited until the waiting room fell into a lull, Yudai following suit as they settled into a corner, their conversation barely above a whisper. 

“Your heat.” Fuma starts, eyes glancing around at the staff before landing back on Yudai. “I think your pre-heat started.” 

“I thought I could smell it on me this morning,” Yudai says, sighing as he opens up his calendar to check his tracking. “Your nose is getting more sensitive; usually, only Nicholas can smell it so soon, sometimes Taki.” 

“It was due soon, right?” 

“Yeah, it’s a week early, but it shouldn’t be an issue. It was already considered when they organised our promotions and schedule for this period.” 

“Do you want me or Euijoo to let the staff know?” 

“It’s okay, better I tell them,” Yudai replies, locking his phone again with enough of a flare that Fuma could feel the vague annoyance creeping up on Yudai, “It’ll be easier to update for when it starts.” 

“You’re at least predictable. Nicholas’s last heat sent half the staff into crisis.” 

Yudai laughed, loud enough that a few staff glanced over and he had to stifle it with his hand, Fuma not faring much better as they shrank in on each other. Huddling for a brief moment until the lingering glances faded and their bubble felt ridged back in place.

“Yuma and Jo looked like they had been run over by the time they left the heat room after trying to help Euijoo take care of him.” Yudai eventually added, glancing over to a very occupied Euijoo with a lap full of Nicholas. “Am I that bad?” 

“You haven’t almost smothered me yet, at least.” 

“You said yet,” Yudai all but gasps, finger lightly digging into Fuma’s side.  

“There’s always this one.” 

·༺༻𐫱༺༻·

“Is this why everything smells like you?” Fuma says as the door clicks shut behind him, Yudai only responds with a soft whine as he buries himself further into the pile of sheets that he had bundled up on Fuma’s bed. 

Yudai’s scent seemed to permeate through everything in the dorm the further along he preheat went; Fuma could smell him in his towels, in his bedding. It wasn’t arousing, it never was to Fuma. The smell of an Omega’s heat never bothered him, even when he was younger, before each day started and ended with suppressant pills and patches. The desires would pull then fizzle, the natural tug of an Omega’s pheromones never hooked themselves deep, not like how other Alphas seemed to lose themselves. 

The schedules had finally begun to wrap up or be pushed back due to Yudai’s heat, and the last day of promotions at music shows had at least come and gone; whatever was left was scattered between rare periods of rest. Early starts are less common, and free time finally lets them breathe, even if it was only for a single evening. 

Yudai had grown more clingy as his pre-heat deepened, barely allowing a second without being pressed against at least one other pack-mate. His nose was either buried in Taki’s hair or squeezing himself between Euijoo and Nicholas on the couch, ignoring the rumbles of protest as they squirmed trying to make more room. Fuma always liked the extra attention; it was never vocalised, but he’d make a more conscious choice of adding extra sheets to the bed, a comforter left in a pile in the corner for the moment Yudai feels like nesting. 

“Hurry up and hold me,” Yudai eventually demands as Fuma finally finishes putting away his bag from their earlier schedule. 

“I’m coming,” Fuma responds, finally shrugging off his shirt and pants, knowing Yudai would end up wrestling them off the moment Fuma even stepped into the bed. “You’re so impatient.”

“You’re just not fast enough.” 

Fuma just laughs, the soft sure lost in his amusement as he tosses his clothes into the laundry that he was sure would end up in Yudai’s nest before he had the chance to even put them in the wash. 

Yudai shifts as Fuma sits at the corner of the bed, slipping under the pile of sheets and comforters, “I’ll try better next time then.” 

Yudai finally turned his head, his back still facing Fuma, half obscured by the angle except for the mischievous glint in bright eyes and the hint of a smile as his lips began to curl upward. 

“If you didn’t want to wait, Jo and Yuma were already in their rooms,” Fuma says as he lies back onto the bed, turned towards Yudai with his arm raised to make space for Yudai to crawl into. Waiting patiently until the small smile breaks into a grin and Yudai wiggles himself over, curling into Fuma’s side, his head resting on Fuma’s chest. 

They lie for a moment, occasionally shifting until they find something comfortable, well enough rehearsed, they find their usual synchronicities. 

“You smell safe.” Yudai eventually says as he buries his face into Fuma’s neck, long limbs tangling together. 

The gentle rumble in Fuma’s chest grew louder, matching the rhythm of Yudai’s soft content purr. Fuma’s body radiated a certain kind of warmth whenever Yudai would feed his innate need to be close, smothered in an Alpha's scent and tucked away in strong arms.

Fuma would blame it on his Alpha, on the instinctive need to protect and nurture his Omega, he had had for the years they had been together. It was easier to label it like that, to ignore the logic and reality of his affections. 

He blamed it on allowing himself to think more, to dive deeper into himself and unravel the complexities of his aversions to letting himself feel and be anything that would even hint at his sub-gender. Allowing for any introspection that delved further than disliking being an Alpha was never something Fuma let his mind drift towards; it was always easier to blame it on something else, to let answers get pushed away and buried until it could be ignored until another tipping point gets broken.

Fuma could smell that Yudai’s heat was close, feel the spike in his temperature radiating from his skin, the thin layer of sweat shining under the overhead lights. His heart raced, and with each beat, the dryness in his mouth became unbearable as his tongue flickered out to wet his lips to little success. It was hard to shake off the nerves that occupied his racing thoughts; talking himself out of the question seemed easier. 

Yudai’s heats were never too temperamental, not like Nichola’s or even Taki’s, which would stretch for the whole week, each member taking turns caring for them until it finally broke. Yudai, as particular and borderline prissy as he could be, would rarely have a heat that surpassed three days with the help of a knot. 

It was easier now, after their debut, being able to depend on pack-mates for help through cycles always made it easier. Yudai and Fuma slowly began gravitating to each other; Fuma couldn’t remember who had asked first, the yes had been mutual as they carefully made their way to the heat rooms, Yudai’s flushed skin pressed against Fuma’s the moment the door had clicked shut until they awoke on the morning of the fourth day and Yudai’s heat had broken. It remained that way; any cycle that wasn’t medially suppressed, the pack would step in; it wasn’t necessarily an uncommon practice. As long as it was kept between the members, the staff never bothered to step in. 

It never got easier, the nerves. Fuma knew he liked helping Yudai, not as an Alpha, but rather as a pack-mate, as something a little more than a friend. It always felt deeper, different; he knew other Alphas, both seniors and friends who’d talk about caring for their Omegas, who would drag each story until Fuma would feel his skin crawl and something uncomfortable would wedge itself in his chest. It was never the same, never the same tug Fuma would feel pulling him. Not the same desperate want that would fill him as Yudai would lie in his arms and his heart would ache for his touch, to be buried in a nest and bathe in each other's scent. 

It was harder to ignore that voice, the one that would whisper, that would remind him how he was made wrong. He could feel it growing more demanding, louder, as it ate away at his ability to suppress everything. 

“Do you want help?” Fuma finally muttered, lips still pressed to the back of Yudai’s neck, his nose grazing Yudai’s scent glands as he spoke. 

“Please,” Yudai muttered, voice rough and half asleep. “You were going to do it anyway.” 

Fuma snorted, “I know.” 

Yudai huffed, voice curling into a small whine, the protest dying on his tongue as quickly as it came. Too content to bother fighting back. Instead, they just lay, silence beating on like a drum as Yudai nestled his nose against Fuma’s scent gland, pressing into the crook of his neck as if it would urge more of Fuma’s scent out. 

Sometimes, Fuma would consider reducing his suppressants, letting his shell crack open and rip out a little more of his soul to serve just for Yudai to taste. He would consider it until the clock stretched dangerously close to when his next suppressant dose was due—his scent would flood his senses, curling around every inch of his room, and something would dig into his chest like a knife until everything was finally dulled again and he could breathe. Instead, he lets Yudai carve whatever he wants out of him, let him take as he pleases, and Fuma is content. 

“Can I sleep here tonight?” 

“Of course,” Fuma replied, “I was expecting it anyway.”

·༺༻𐫱༺༻·

Yudai’s heat started a few days later, Euijoo and Harua had already begun raiding the rooms for worn clothes and anything else Yudai had requested for his nest. The small washing basket filled before was abruptly pressed into a bleary-eyed Fuma as he stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his neck and hair still dripping onto his sweatshirt. 

“Yudai’s already in the heat room,” Yuma says, shaking the basket against Fuma until he finally takes it from Yuma’s grasp. The weight was all too evident as Fuma felt the slight strain in his muscles the moment it was dropped into his hands.

“What about-” 

“Everything is in there,” Yuma replied, grin spreading as he lets the words drag, the implication obvious enough even without the teasing exaggeration. 

“Even some toys, if you get tired. I know the ones they leave in the heat room aren’t the best.” Harua says, ignoring as Nicholas scampered over, roughly digging his finger in Harua’s side, shouting something that was lost between Harua’s scrambling to escape his grasp and Nicholas trying to drown out whatever was coming next. “Euijoo says they work really well,” Harua added, ducking away to find refuge in a confused Taki. 

“Just let us know if you need help or anything.” 

“I will,” Fuma said, forcing a small, reassuring smile as Euijoo watched him adjust the basket in his arms. 

Guilt continued to mix with the dread that had been coiling deep in his stomach, reaching up until he could feel it in every part of his body. It was unyielding, sinking deeper and growing louder until all he could hear was his heart echoing around in his skull and the whispers of doubt that licked behind his ears. The spiral didn’t relent, beating louder and pushing itself as close to the surface as it could the closer Fuma got to the heat room, trying to push its way through the cracks, barely restrained with a shuddering breath. 

Whispers of Yudai’s heat were still faint in the hallway, the tints of arousal and jasmine and something as sweet as candy that pressed themselves to Fuma’s lips as he licked away the dryness. It was too early for much else; his scent had been captured before it curled into something desperate and biting. 

It was stronger at the door, as scent-proof as the room was, Fuma could still find traces leaking through. Pushing against his hesitance as he finally lets his fingers curl around the doorknob, the door's code sings after he punches it in. 

“Yudai?” Fuma says as he peeks his head through the door, trying to ignore the flood of pheromones that hit him like a wave.

“Took you long enough,” Yudai huffs, his head barely lifting from the pillow. 

His limbs were sprawled across the empty bed, his chest rising and falling with each heavy pant, bare skin making it obvious. His clothes were left on the floor, close enough to the hamper that Fuma could almost see the vague attempt to throw them inside, too deep to care about neatness.

“I guess I’m still too slow,” Fuma says as he takes the clothes out of the hamper, Yudai finally sitting up, his hands outstretched, waiting for each piece for the next.

“Shut up.” 

There wasn’t any bite; even under the layers of teasing snark and sass, Fuma could feel the teasing amusement that warmed the anxiety sitting under his skin. 

Something in Fuma itched to help, to help arrange everything, but he wasn’t an Omega; it’d be presumptuous to assume he knew what Yudai would want, what an Omega would want. It was a reminder that would echo around in Fuma’s head, telling himself over like a mantra that would chip away at him. The constant soft, unwanted nudges and reminders that he was an Alpha. 

The basket was emptied. Yudai was well enough rehearsed that making a nest never seemed to be more than second nature. Barely a thought spared as everything was quickly placed in a spot that seemed so specific, Fuma could only sit back and watch and ignore the envy that was desperately trying to choke him as his gaze flickered between the nest and Yudai, his heart aching to understand the instinct that drove him. 

“Come here,” Fuma, climbing into the nest, arms open as Yudai all but throws himself into them, climbing over Fuma’s lap as their lips lock together. 

It was always different in heat, the rush and desperation that would drip off Yudai in a thick layer that would coat every inch of Fuma until it was all he could taste. The faint haze that wrapped around them grew thicker, settling like a veil over the bodies, an unseen weight pressing them closer until Fuma felt as if their bodies were about to fuse if it wasn’t for the thin material of his shirt sitting like a barrier between Yudai’s sweat-slick skin. 

It didn’t stay on long. The hem stretched as Yudai tugged at it in protest, urging it upwards until Fuma finally lifted his arms in compliance, letting it be pulled off and discarded somewhere to the side of the nest, his pants quickly following.

Yudai was always the easiest to look after. Even in the deepest throes of his heat, he was always assertive in his demands, taking whatever he wanted, whilst Fuma happily complied. It was easier that way, and Fuma preferred it. 

Their lips had barely parted for a second before Yudai pressed his nose to Fuma’s neck, dragging it along his skin. A small growl of disapproval rumbled in his chest as his nose brushed up against a scent patch, nudging it as if to will it off, his disapproval already coming off of him in waves. 

Fuma had forgotten to remove it earlier in the sudden rush, too caught in the habit of applying them every morning to avoid lingering on his scent, each spike of his pheromones growing more nauseating as time had passed. It was easier to mask everything and hide. No matter how much the others would reassure him, the stronger the scent of Alpha got, the more his fingers would twitch, desperate to claw out the gland himself if he didn’t drag himself out of the spiral. 

He reaches up to peel it off before Yudai decides to impatiently claw it off on his own, tossing it to the side, trying not to wince at the slight irritation that had started to redden the skin, most likely made worse by the less-than-gentle removal.

The tacky layer still sticks to his skin when Yudai returns to scenting him, Fuma could feel it with each touch, distracting Fuma for long enough that he’s only rewarded with a sharp whine the moment Yudai realises Fuma’s hands remained locked around his waist, holding them steady.

“Touch me,” Yudai whines, kicking away whatever bedding was obstructive as he crawls onto Fuma’s thigh, slick already beginning to drip down Fuma’s leg as Yudai grinds down. 

Fuma’s finger brushes along Yudai’s hole, letting slick collect on his fingers before slowly dragging them along his cunt, spreading the slick along his folds. The angle was awkward; Fuma could already feel the twinge in his wrist, the ache still dull. It was still easy enough to ignore, at least when Yudai was distracting him with whimpers pretty enough that Fuma wanted to close his eyes and commit each sound to memory. 

“You’re already so wet,” Fuma muttered, too distracted by the slick that was running down his fingers, pooling in his palm and wetting the sheets. 

The smell was growing stronger, cloying and saccharine, Fuma could feel it spreading like a thick fog with each inhale, his head spinning until the only thing that filled him was Yudai. 

“Shut up and stop teasing,” Yudai whined, his hips pressing back against Fuma’s hand, trying to grind down against whatever faint touches Fuma was allowing.

“So demanding.” 

Slick ran down his fingers, pooling in his palm and dripping down on the bed. Everything felt wet, his fingers sliding against Yudai’s clit, barely able to find any friction as he pressed down, his fingers slipping to the side. 

It was hard not to tease, not when Yudai’s body was demanding for more than Fuma knew he could give. Not when he wasn’t in rut and couldn’t knot more than once in such a short time, even once sometimes felt like a task, part of him felt as if it were protesting every time he would feel the swell. 

Fuma was well enough rehearsed in how Yudai’s would tick during his heats, how his arousal would slowly build, wrung out for a moment before it came crashing back down, stronger and more demanding. Knotting was never enough, not until Yudai was already falling apart. 

The room was quiet apart from their heavy breaths and the slick, wet sound of Fuma’s fingers rubbing against Yudai’s clit, unrelenting as his pace continued to quicken as soon as shuddering breaths began to pitch into quiet, barely bitten back whines. It didn’t take much for Yudai to cum, not for the first time at least. Fuma could almost feel the arousal pulsing through his body, sitting so close to the edge that it barely took the brush of his fingertip to push Yudai over.

He could feel Yudai’s stomach tensing with each pass of his fingers, cunt clenching around nothing, forcing more slick out until Fuma’s lap was soaked. The orgasm was mild, washing over Yudai as his body continued to shake, aching as if he were still on the edge.  

Fuma’s touches didn’t relent, pressing harder down against Yudai’s clit as he circles the head, barely giving attention to anything else other than building back the heat that stirred in the pit of Yudai’s stomach like coals. Yudai’s composure was quickly fragmenting, chips falling away with each broken gasp as he grew louder, unable to stop the loud whine that was ripped from his throat as Fuma’s nail pressed under the hood of his clit, his second orgasm ripping through him with more force than the first. 

Slick coated everything, Fuma could only regret not taking off his underwear before; the fabric clung to his skin, soaked enough that he was sure if he were to wring it out, he’d be able to fill a cup. It was distracting, unable to help himself from trying to shift his weight, finding a position that didn’t pull on the fabric as much, his skin itching the more he let his thoughts linger.  

It wasn’t by much, yet the sudden jolt was enough to rock Yudai back against his hand, back arching with a sharp cry as his clit was pitched roughly between Fuma’s fingers. Yudai hadn’t stopped shaking, his body falling back against Fuma’s, fingers weakly curling against his arm. 

“Can you do one more?” Yudai squirmed as Fuma’s lips brushed against his ear, his breath catching.

The question was more or less rhetorical. Fuma knew the answer, could feel it building in Yudai until it was spilling at the edges. He doesn’t receive an answer that was further than a choked please, Yudai’s voice breaking the moment Fuma’s fingers paused, sitting still pressed over his cunt, a faint pressure that was far from enough. 

Yudai’s hips buck forward, his hips tilting as he tries to search for any friction, Fuma shifting his hand away the moment Yudai begins to rut against him. The loud cry of protest ringing through the room, almost pained the moment he found only the overly slick, smooth surface of Fuma’s palm. 

“I asked a question,” Fuma teased, his fingers twitching, tapping against Yudai’s hole, the faint pressure a brief promise.

He could see Yudai bite his tongue, his brows furrowing in a soft pout as he looked down with wide, glistening eyes, the threat of tears reflecting in the light. 

“Yes,” Yudai said with a gasp, his breath hitching before letting out a shaky exhale, grasping for whatever composure he could find within him. Yudai inched closer as he lifted his hips, letting himself lean into Fuma, his head nestled back against Fuma’s shoulder, mouthing along his neck, teeth barely grazing over the still sensitive scent gland before retreating. “Please don’t stop.” 

The angle was easier; the ache that had settled into his wrist began to fade despite Yudai’s rutting, the demands silent, yet Fuma was well enough rehearsed in anything Yudai he barely needed to think twice before obeying any whim.

Fuma could feel how swollen Yuadi’s clit was, grazing past the hood, pushing it back further as he held the tip between his fingers. It was rougher, less care in each touch. Fuma only pushed harder, dug deeper; he could feel Yudai needed more. He typically did the more Fuma would force out each orgasm, his sensitivity in his clit dwindling as his body screamed for penetration. 

“I’m close, please,” Yudai gasped, fingers digging into soft muscle, leaving a pattern of crescent moons along Fuma’s arms. 

Fuma could hear the desperation, taste it in the air. His fingers rubbed faster, pressed down harder against the head until he was barely rubbing small circles up and down, Yudai’s clit almost flush against his body from the pressure. 

Yudai’s cries were punched out of him with each breath, his legs shaking uncontrollably as he slipped from Fuma’s grasp, too weak to hold himself up as Fuma held his waist. It crashed over him like a wave, rushing through his body in ripples as slick poured out of his cunt. Fuma could feel it dripping down almost like a faucet, his hole clenching down tight, forcing even more out. It didn’t stop, still flowing through him until all Yudai could do was fall limp, unresponsive to Fuma’s touch. 

“It hurts,” Yudai finally lets out as the last of the aftershocks, squirming in Fuma’s lap, trying to escape his touch, “you’re going to make it fall off.” 

“We can’t have that, can we?”

Fuma could feel the tacky layer of sweat clinging to his skin as he peeled away from Yudai, trying to ignore the itch from where their skin was stuck together.  The bed was already soiled as they parted, the sheets soaked through, no matter how much Fuma tried to shift away from the steadily growing wet patch beneath them. There was no point changing it, not when Yudai was still writhing in his arms, cunt still leaking. 

“We made a mess already,” Yudai sighed, kicking away the bunched-up sheets, exposing more of the wet patch of slick that encircled them. 

“And you’re about to make more of a mess,” Fuma replied, settling Yudai down onto his back, ignoring as their limbs tangled together, “I’ll clean up later, don’t worry.” 

Cleanup was always easy—the hardest task was getting Yudai to sit up long enough for Fuma to change the sheets, the soiled ones discarded in the exterior bins to be collected for cleaning. The plastic protector under the sheets made it easy to strip the bed and remake; spare sheets lined the cupboards, though the deeper into Yudai’s heat they were, the less they bothered. 

“Fine,” Yudai sighed, his head lolling to the side, arms outstretched, waiting for Fuma to follow. 

It was peaceful, even if only for a moment. Fuma wordlessly fell into Yudai’s embrace as their bodies slotted together like puzzle pieces, made perfectly for each other as he crawled over Yudai’s flushed form. Arms caging them both in as he looks down, a shaky hand coming up to brush away Yudai’s hair that clung to his forehead. 

It was always hard not to fall deep into Yudai, the whole world seemingly pausing just to catch even a glance at Yudai’s beauty. It was hard not to be in love, to not let jealousy simmer so deep in his stomach he was never quite sure why it began to bubble up in the first place. Fuma always liked pretty things, even as a child, even when he had his first rut at seventeen and expectations that he didn’t understand sat heavily on his shoulders. He couldn’t help it, help be drawn to the soft petals of a flower or the delicate blouses the stylists would cinch to Yudai’s body, the soft silks and satins brushing against his skin, burning through like an invisible brand. He craved it, craved Yudai, craved it for himself. Unspoken desires he was too ashamed to even want, not when he knew it could never be for him.

“I need you,” Yudai whines against Fuma's mouth, his hips bucking upwards.

“I’m here,” Fuma's voice was barely above a whisper; he could feel his breath against Yudai’s skin, just as hot and feverish as it spread. 

“Fuck me,” the command shot through Fuma like lightning, Yudai’s tone tilting into something darker, desperation ringing through it like a cry, dragging Fuma down with him. “I can’t hold on any longer, Fuma, please, it hurts.”  

“Wait, condom,” Fuma managed to get out as Yudai’s legs hooked around his waist, holding him down.

His thoughts felt like syrup, running slower until it felt as if mustering a single reasonable response cost more energy and effort than Fuma had to spare. Grasping desperately at whatever semblance of sense he had left. 

“You know I’m on the pill.”

“You’re still in heat.” 

“I need it so bad, I want to feel you. Please.” Yudai’s grip tightened, attempting to tug Fuma closer with little success, too weak from his heat for him to have any hold, yet Fuma still let himself get dragged as if the weight was impossible to fight back. “I’ll take a post-heat pill, just this once. Please.” 

Yudai smelt so strongly of heat and pheromones and something Fuma was so deeply attuned to but couldn’t place. It was intoxicating, dizzying to the point that the reply that was burning the tip of his tongue was swept away with the rest of his restraint. 

Desperation leaked from every pore; it filled the room until he tried to take a deep breath. The air felt tacky and thick as Fuma swallowed it down, each inhale only making his head spin further. The fog grew thicker, almost nauseatingly so, as the smell of slick and heat was so unbearably pungent it was all he could think about.               

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” 

His cock ached, the friction of his damped underwear growing unbearable as it rubbed against the fabric, chafing with every movement. It was hard to think, to string together the jumbled mess that was floating by, unable to grasp at anything without it slipping away, other than feeling Yudai against him.

Fuma cups the side of Yudai’s face as he leans back down for another kiss, his other hand working to rip off his underwear, Yudai’s hands also coming up to help. Uncoordinated and desperate, yet they manage, the offending clothes tossed away with a small chuckle hidden in a gasp.

“Alpha,” Yudai let out a wet, bubbly hiccup as he looked down at Fuma’s cock, the head already beginning to pearl with precum, “put it in, I need to feel you.” 

“I know, I’ve got you,” Fuma whispered as his cock slid along Yudai’s folds, wetting it with Yudai’s slick, trying to ignore the distressed wails that clawed at his chest, his heart hammering as he hurried to line himself up. 

When the head of his cock finally pressed into Yudai’s cunt, he could smell the relief in the air as if it were a respite from the cloying anxiety that had been suffocating him. His finger rolled over Yudai’s clit, fingers slipping almost comically as he tried to find any friction to distract Yudai from the sudden stretch.

“More,” Yudai pleaded, blabbering as Fuma finally bottomed out, his eyes squeezed shut as he let out a weak mewl, lips slick with spit and mouth gaping. 

Fuma starts moving his hips, the first thrust slow, careful as Fuma searches Yudai’s face for discomfort. Eyes flicking over each detail, letting himself take it in, even if it were only briefly. He leant down, lips pressing to the corner of Yudai’s eye, tongue darting out to catch the tear that was beading in Yudai’s lashes, grooming him clean. 

Sometimes he wished he could take his time. Yudai was always different in heat; Fuma could never put his finger on exactly what, and part of him was sure it was rose-tinted from the waves of pheromones and mingling scents that tugged on something primal but was addictive. It was wetter, more desperate, and Yudai seemed to glow from within, shining as if the sun were barely contained beneath his skin. 

Control began to slip, falling like sand and swept away until the only thing that echoed in his head was pleasing his Omega. His thrusts grow rougher, chasing the sharp moans that were punched out of Yudai, pushing until they are no longer being strangled at the back of his throat, caught by his tongue. It was addictive, and it made Fuma desperate, desperate to please, to give Yudai everything he wanted. It was impossible not to. 

Yudai was tight and impossibly wet, and Fuma could hear the squelch of slick leaking out with each thrust as it was smeared over his thighs and stomach. The smell grew stronger, and his mouth watered, unable to tear his eyes from the slick that dribbled out around his cock each time he slammed himself in. 

His thumb pressed to where his cock was disappearing inside of Yudai’s cunt, the skin so taught that Fuma never understood how he took his knot. He knew how big his knot grew, how much Yudai would need to stretch despite squeezing down on Fuma’s cock as if there were no more give to offer, so impossibly tight Fuma needed to hold himself back not to pop it too quickly. The thought always sat at the back of his head, pocketed away as some sort of curiosity or wonderment, sitting beside another thought that he refused to pick at, yet it still persisted. The curiosity of what it would feel like to be fucked like this, to have an Alpha split him open the same way as he writhed in pleasure. 

Their lips crashed together, Yudai barely lucid enough to kiss back, mostly licking and drooling into Fuma’s mouth, but it still felt good, still tasted as sweet. 

He could feel his knot start to throb, the heat coiling in his stomach, desperate to burn through him. He tries to ignore it, the sensation of it beginning to bloat. He tried to distract himself, to focus on Yudai, on his job as an Alpha, yet it still continued to nag. 

It was easier to get it done, to pop it as fast as he could to let himself come back down into Yudai’s arms and let bliss overtake the feeling of wrongness that would hover until it ate away at his psyche, and he’d want to claw out of his skin. But for Yudai, he was able to forget. 

“I’m close,” Fuma gasps, control starting to slip as his pace quickens, Yudai beginning to rock against the bed with each thrust, his nails digging deep enough into Fuma’s back that he was sure the marks would last for days. Not that he minded. 

“Knot,” Yudai slurred out, the world barely comprehensible as he was cut off by another loud moan. 

Bile began to rise in Fuma's throat as he felt Yudai clench around him, his gaze finding where they were connected. Cum and slick were frothing around Yudai’s cunt, their skin tacky and wet and coated in a thick layer of slick that was coming out of Yudai in waves every time he clenched down. 

Fuma’s eyes snap shut, fingers curling into the blanket, tight enough he could feel the cotton fibres pulling at his skin, his nails biting through the fabric and into his palms as he tries to steady himself. The nausea doesn’t die, sitting in his throat as he tries to will himself away, pushing his thoughts elsewhere until he feels truly disconnected. Floating as if he were just a speculator, his body puppeteered by an invisible hand as he drifted away, the haze around his vision growing more vibrant. 

He wasn’t sure when he found his way back—Yudai’s hands were pressed to his cheek, repeating his name. Eyes wide and brows furrowed on flushed skin. 

His knot had already inflated, locked together as he remained hovering over Yudai’s body, his arm only beginning to shake from the strain of the position. 

“Fuma?” Yudai’s voice was barely above a whisper as he tried again, finally catching Fuma’s gaze, their eyes finally locking.

“‘M sorry, just tired,” Fuma said, the lie felt bitter, each word heavy as he chokes back the guilt.

Yudai exhales, thumb rubbing away some of the sweat that was dripping down Fuma’s face.

“Was it that boring you fell asleep on me?” 

Fuma couldn’t help the short chuckle that burst out, half disbelief and the other half relief that the excuse seemed to somehow bypass Yudai’s usual scrutiny. He blamed the haze of the heat, the exhaustion and instinct that would puppeteer his body.  

“Not yet,” Fuma replied, the words dragging out slightly longer as he pretends to think, the joke dying on his lips as he watches Yudai’s eyes begin to droop. “But we should rest before the next wave hits.” 

“Hmm, you’re right,” Yudai sighs, exaggerated as if asked to a task too far out of reach, “why did we do this position?” 

“Lack of common sense?” 

“You also like me on my back.” 

“I like seeing you.” 

“And on my back.” 

Fuma just hummed in agreement, distracted enough about maneuvering them both on their side, Yudai wincing as Fuma’s knot tugged on his entrance. It was awkward, but they made do. 

Yudai nestled himself in Fuma’s arms as they lay down, his nose buried against Fuma’s scent gland, lips grazing against his skin with every slight nuzzle. 

“You need to wear those patches less,” Yudai’s voice was partly muffled, too busy leaving a line of chaste kisses along Fuma’s neck. 

“Mhm?” 

“You’re getting a rash,” Yudai says, pulling back as he presses a finger to the aggravated skin, the slight press of his nail almost enough to make Fuma flinch. “You might be allergic.” 

“It’s just from the schedules, I’ll wear them less soon.” 

The lie was bitter, but easier. He never liked Yudai worrying; it was easier to carry the weight. It was his role; he shouldn’t need to burden his Omega with whatever was broken inside of him.

“Okay,” as unconvincing as Yudai’s acceptance was, he let it brush past as his eyes drooped, drifting off before he ever managed to bother letting the thought linger. 

They didn't sleep long; the hours ticked away, but Yudai’s heat never remained calm for long, looming overhead, waiting for the downpour to start. Fuma stirred first, weariness still sitting heavily on his eyes as he blinked awake, the scent of arousal almost overwhelming, pungent. 

Yudai was still sleeping, his legs wrapped around Fuma as his hips twitched, each small movement pressing Fuma’s dick back deeper into his cunt before falling lax again. 

Fuma could feel the trail of slick already beginning to dry, sticking to his skin, cracking and itching with every movement. He remains quiet, his cock slipping out of Yudai’s cunt as he carefully prys himself from Yudai’s grasp, ignoring the mix of fluids that begun dribbling out. 

The nausea hadn’t subsided but rather settled somewhere deep in Fuma's stomach, coiling and waiting despite Fuma’s efforts to push it down as far as he could. It was easier to ignore; it didn’t push itself forward, not like before, sitting comfortably in the background as if waiting. 

Yudai squirmed in his sleep, his eyebrows coming down into a slight frown, and soft breaths pitching more and more into a whine. He didn’t want to wake Yudai, at least not yet; rest always felt too precious to disturb in or out of heat, so he was careful, inching himself out of Yudai’s hold until he was free.

It was hard to tear his gaze away from Yudai’s cunt, swollen and wet, the hairs stuck together with dried cum and slick. Fuma’s tongue felt dry, barely able to unstick it from his palate as if held there with glue. 

Yudai had already begun to roll on his back, his legs spread enough for Fuma to nestle himself between them. Not bothering to waste time as he licks a stripe from Yudai’s hole up back to his clit, Yudai’s folds rubbing against his face.  

He splays his fingers into a V, spreading Yudai apart, making space for his tongue as he licks up the globs of slick that kept coming. The scent was strong, impossibly so, and Yudai tasted just as sweet and something at the back of Fuma’s mind crept forward as he wondered if he’d ever be able to get wet like this, and his dick twitches.

It was messy, desperate, Yudai grinding down against his tongue, writhing in his sleep. It didn’t take much coaxing for Yudai to come; it was easy in heat, his hot breath against Yudai’s clit enough to send him over the edge. 

“Don’t stop.” Yudai’s voice was rough with sleep, his fingers tangling themselves in Fuma’s hair, holding his head in place. 

Fuma never needed to be told twice, latching back onto Yudai’s clit as he dove back down, tongue gently circling the head. The strokes of his tongue slowly grew rougher as he lapped at Yudai’s clit, rewarded each time with a muffled chorus of whines followed by incoherent babbling that Fuma wasn’t sure if it was encouragement or begging for reprieve. 

The slick kept coming, dribbling down his chin, mixing with his saliva. Wet and messy and so addictive, Fuma was sure he could stay between Yudai’s legs like this and be content for the rest of his life. 

His tongue followed the scent back to Yudai’s hole, licking up the slick with enough earnestness that it made Yudai writhe. His thigh pressed back together in a weak attempt to push Fuma away, teetering close to overstimulation as his second orgasm crept closer yet never reaching, his legs shaking as Fuma’s hands came up to pry them back apart. 

Yudai’s fingers kept gripping Fuma’s scalp, scraping and tugging as he used that leverage to grind his clit against Fuma’s nose, mewling each time he successfully did. 

Fuma wasn’t cruel, two fingers slipping in along with his tongue as he started pumping his fingers, matching the same desperate bucking of Yudai’s hips. Whatever coherence Yudai had before seemed to melt away, so pliant and needy and unable to do anything else other than cry and whine as he tried to ride Fuma’s fingers, chasing something that seemed too far out of reach.

“I can’t wait, fuck me,” Yudai whined, legs coming up to push Fuma away. 

Fuma didn't tease, not this time, too compliant to even think about giving Yudai anything other than what he wanted. Using slick to wet his cock, he quickly stroked it to full hardness, ignoring Yudai’s piercing gaze as he does, too focused on the wet drag of his fingers coating his length. 

“Do you-” Fuma starts, trying to ignore the anxiety that was twisting in his chest as he stares at Yudai’s slick cunt. 

“You’ve already fucked me raw once, I don’t think a condom now would make a difference.” 

Fuma just nods, bracing himself as he finds himself back in the same position, stomach still coiling and heart beating rapidly from something other than excitement. He doesn’t waste time; he’s too scared to even let himself linger on a single thought, Yudai’s name echoing in his head like a mantra as if it were enough to fight the turmoil that was pressing against his ribs, threatening to break through. 

Yudai was warm, safe, his cunt even hotter. Yudai’s name kept repeating, holding him in place, his focus on the way Yudai’s lips parted into an ‘o’, eyes squeezing shut as tears sat like pearls on his lashes, rolling down his cheek the moment he blinked them away. Eyes fluttering and unfocused. Yudai was pretty in a way that made Fuma’s heart ache, and he wished he could crawl into the space between his ribs and heart and lie curled up, part of Yudai and safe. 

The feeling returned, as if he were floating, unable to control the steady rocking of their body as he thrust into Yudai. Well-rehearsed, his body took control whilst his mind tried to escape. 

Yet the nausea persists, fighting its way up as He feels his body freeze. He wanted to hide, to run far enough away from Yudai’s wide, piercing eyes and curl into a ball or foetal position and disappear, but his hands were still glued to Yudai’s waist and his focus still concentrating on where his dick was disappearing into Yudai’s cunt. 

He tried swallowing down the bile that climbed its way back up his throat; he could feel it clawing its way back up with each attempt. His mouth filled with saliva, watering uncontrollably, the more his stomach turned. 

Each gulp of air made it harder to breathe; the rubber band around his chest grew tighter, thicker. 

“I-” Fuma’s voice cracked, his vision blurry with tears as he pulled out of Yudai, stumbling towards the end of the bed, leaning over the edge as he felt the bile that was stirring in his stomach. 

The first wretch was dry, only spitting a glob of saliva onto the floor, the bitterness still blooming over his tongue as he let out a shuddering exhale, cut short as his body shook. It was mostly bile that came out as he puked over the edge, tears wetting his cheeks as he stared at the small wet-patch below him. His stomach was still empty from the morning, and for a moment, Fuma could only be thankful he had forgotten about the leftover bread he had saved. 

Fuma’s mouth was coated in saliva, in puke, it dripped over his bottom lip, falling onto the floor as his body shuddered. He wipes away the spit, ignoring Yudai hovering just behind him, a hand on his back.

He was sure he’d have also cried if he had anything left in him. Shame burned through him; his face felt as if it were on fire, unable to cool despite the goosebumps that littered his body and shivers that coursed through him.

“Fuma?” Yudai couldn’t contain the panic, scrambling over to Fuma’s side as his hand hovered over his back. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?” 

“I don’t’” Fuma gasps, gulping down air as if it were about to disappear, “there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Do you need the hospital?” 

“No!” Fuma cries out, wincing at the panic in his tone, “not like that. I think I’m just broken. You should call a proper Alpha to care for you. I can’t. I can’t-”

It was hard to stop himself from babbling, his hands balling into fists as his shoulders sag in defeat, ready to let shame lead him back out the door to find Euijoo or any other member that wasn’t so fractured and messy inside.  

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Yudai crawls next to him, close enough that Fuma could feel the heat radiating from his skin, his fingers gently cupping Fuma’s cheeks as he gently turns his head to face Yudai’s. “You’re not broken, just talk to me.” 

“I-” Fuma's voice began to break, unable to help the shuddering sob that broke through, the words lost, too far from his reach. 

“You don’t have to talk now, let’s go back to sleep. Rest, and we can talk later. Okay?” 

“What about you?” 

“I’m okay, let’s just sleep.” 

Fuma nodded, unable to bring himself to say anything else. Yudai brought his face closer, pressing their lips together; it was chaste, delicate. Fuma could feel the puke still on his mouth, yet Yudai didn't seem to care. Instead, he took Fuma’s hand, dragging him back towards the pillows as they lay, curled up in each other's arms, and for a moment, Fuma thought maybe it could be okay. 

“I’m sorry-”

“Just sleep,” Yudai’s voice was warm; it washed over him like a summer breeze, gentle and comforting, and for a moment, he felt like a pup again, nestled away in his parents' arms. The world was too loud, but with Yudai in that moment, it began to quiet. “You’ll be okay, it’s okay.”

The anxiety in his chest didn’t subside; rather, it coiled and dug itself its own hole like a serpent, waiting. It was hard to believe those words, to let them wrap around him like a blanket—he was sure they wouldn’t if it weren't from Yudai, but they were, and Fuma clung onto them as if it were his life force. 

They don’t fall asleep, not for a while, not until Yudai’s scent finally lulls him away and his eyelids grow too heavy to stay open. The rise and fall of his chest even out, and he drifts off, Yudai’s soft words, the last thing that passes by before sleep finally takes him.