Chapter Text
It was supposed to be a one-time thing.
Gion didn’t know why he had let it happen in the first place. His mind replayed the string of events, trying to make sense of his momentary lapse in judgment. He blamed it on his traitorous teenage hormones and omega whims—both of which had precariously led to this tangled mess with Charles. It was reckless, absurd even, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he became. What would his mother say if she ever found out that he—Prince Gion, a prime omega—had been scented by an alpha, let alone a prime alpha, who wasn’t family or a trusted packmate? The mere thought made his stomach churn.
He had always been careful, always kept his distance from alphas, especially ones like Charles. And yet, here he was.
As Gion stood in the unfamiliar bedroom of Charles' rented apartment, he tried to focus on anything other than the maddening heat prickling under his skin or the suffocating scent that still clung to him—Charles’ scent. How had he let this spiral so far?
He briefly remembered what had happened before they ended up in this situation. When Gion first realized that Charles was in his rut, his immediate instinct had been to drag the blonde to the school's infirmary. It seemed like the most logical course of action—get Charles away from other students, away from public spaces, and let the school nurse deal with it. But Charles had vehemently refused, practically growling at the suggestion, his usual playful demeanor completely replaced with something raw and unrestrained.
Frustrated, Gion had then suggested taking Charles back to his dorm, where he could at least have some privacy and space to ride out the storm of his rut. But that idea was swiftly shut down too. Charles had muttered something under his breath—something about going to his apartment instead. His apartment? The fact that Charles had a rented place outside the dorms was news to Gion, but there had been little time to argue. In his current state, it was clear Charles needed to be somewhere away from the academy, and Gion had reluctantly agreed to follow him.
Gion wracked his brain for any memory of platonic relationships outside of packmates. Livio and Shintarou were both betas, which made Gion more unguarded around them. It wasn't that he wasn’t used to alphas—he'd been to enough evening parties hosted by his mother to know several jackass alphas from prominent families. He knew enough about them to be cautious and never let his guard down, especially when following an alpha to their den. The implications alone made his skin crawl.
Clearly, whatever this is had to be anything but platonic. Maybe it was a setup, where Charles could prank him or blackmail him to get Gion's secrets.
Yeah, that had to be it.
Call Gion ignorant and delusional if you want, but he needs to keep at least a bit of his sanity intact by whatever means possible, and if that involves making mental gymnastics to conclude that he is most definitely not resting anywhere near Charles's bed, so be it.
The same applies to focusing on anything but the large body resting on top of him. The body that is definitely not there at all. Nope. No way. There is no one but him, himself and the couple of lousy superhero comic book strewn around the room that are suddenly far more interesting and pleasant to look at than any of the previous times he had seen them before. Uh-hu.
(The Alpha presses down, grabs hold of Gion's wrists and keeps him pinned down, growling in protest as the Omega squirms around, attempting to break free, nail dig into the brunete's skin, making Gion stifle a groan of pain).
Gion sure is wondering where Charles might be right now, it certainly is unusual of him to not show up at all. Maybe the blonde was out fooling around with the bumbling idiots he called friends.
(Gion gives a particular hard push, and that earns him a furious snarl, body being held down so strongly, he was surprised at the strength the alpha blonde had, considering how weak he was in P.E. The press of fangs against his throat also contributes to the way he freezes up, the memory of the dangers of teenage omega pregnancies and impulsive mating bites that his mother used to play in front him and Gina when they hit puberty and presented still fresh. It feels humiliating, stopping to fight out of meaningless fear, but he can't really help it.
The cease on his struggle seems to be extremely pleasant to the alpha, though, if the way he closes his mouth and settles his face against Gion's throat is anything to go by, a pleased humm reverberating in the skin there. Gion can almost feel the smile curving Charles's lips).
In the midst of it, Gion ignores the ticklish feeling he gets when soft pale yellow locks brush against his chin and wonders whether he should change his conditioner. Gina told him about the new brands that went viral in Italy. Maybe he should take Gina out soon.
(Gion shudders, feeling Charles nuzzling against his neck, taking in his scent, giving small licks and tiny bites to his flesh, going up and up until he reaches his earlobe, nibbling at it. The omega within Gion whimpers, trembles and fights back. The alpha doesn't let up, merely growls against his ear, sinking his teeth a little deeper in his poor ear, drawing out blood. Purring as he laps it up).
Gion wonders what he should have for dinner, maybe he text Livio about that when he wakes up and-
He breaks.
"Okay, that's it!" The teen snaps, starting to writhe around, fighting against the grip on his wrists. Charles sneers at him, tries to settle his mouth against Gion's throat, but he doesn't give him a chance, headbutting the alpha with determination. Hearing him yowl in surprise and indignation. "Back off, stronzo !"
Gion growls, glaring defiantly and looking straight at dazed blue eyes. Charles is growling in aggression, fangs gleaming dangerously, looking ready to kill.
Gion tries hard to remain unfazed, his sudden surge of bravery almost fizzling out even as he tries to remain defiant. At this point, there's nothing but a fight of wills, and Gion already fears he might be losing, with how tired he already is. He is more than aware that Charles wouldn't back down, and, on the contrary, he'd just get more and more annoyed until he deemed adequate, taking more extreme measures to get his way. No matter how much he had to maim Gion to achieve that.
Is it really worth getting mauled when it seems that the only thing Charles wants is to cuddle him? He grimaces at the thought, fearing he might have gone crazy for mixing 'Charles' and 'cuddle' in the same sentence, but he can't deny that's the only thing the prime alpha had done so far. When left unprovoked, at the very least.
And honestly, all things considered, Charles could really attain to do much worse.
So, maybe, in this situation in particular, it would just be far more convenient for everyone involved if Charles got his way without Gion making up a fuzz. For now! He is still ready to fight his way out of here if he has to. Just not right that very instant.
With that in mind, Gion slumps down, turning his head to one side like a petulant child, breaking eye-contact with the alpha. Feigning defeat.
Charles doesn't fall for it right away, huffing with distrust, maintaining his stance, body taut and nails and teeth ready to sink down and tear through flesh. Gion does his best not to react, merely frowning (definitely not pouting) as the alpha approaches him tentatively, sniffing at him, pushing and pressing and waiting for how he would react. Finally settling once more over his body, smothering him under his weight, surrounded by his heat and smell.
Gion finds himself relaxing in the embrace, managing to slip one of his hands out from Charles's grip and place it dubitably over the scalp of the alpha, scratching lightly the soft fluffy tuff of hair above the blonde’s nape. Charles groans, shudders and almost melts against him, and Gion chuckles at that.
Charles could feel his rut approaching, like a distant storm edging closer, but he was calm. At least, that’s what he told himself. Even though his body had begun to stir restlessly, his traitorous alpha instincts kept replaying that moment. That single, intoxicating moment when he had scented Gion during the brunet's heat. It was as if the aroma of Gion’s pheromones had seeped into his very soul, refusing to let him be. The more Charles tried to ignore it, the more it haunted him.
Pretending to be unbothered in the days that followed was almost impossible. Beneath the surface, he was growing restless, his alpha nature agitated by the memory of Gion. Every breath he took seemed to echo with the scent of the Italian prince, a scent he couldn’t shake. Desperate to distract himself, Charles had combed through the Internet, looking for perfumes, air fresheners—anything that might replicate the addictive blend of burnt sugar and coffee that Gion had exuded. But nothing came close.
He had even wandered through every damn coffee shop on the island, hoping that a whiff of roasted beans might dull the craving. But no. Nothing could compare. Gion's scent was more than just coffee; it was something deeply ingrained in his mind, something that irritated and drew him in all at once.
And it wasn’t just the scent. It was Gion himself—always there, always annoying him in ways no one else could. Charles couldn’t exactly ask Gion for something as simple as lending him a jacket or anything that might carry his scent. He wasn’t a fool. He knew Gion hated his guts, though neither of them had ever explicitly discussed it. The Italian prince didn’t think favorably of him, and it was no secret.
The truth was, Charles genuinely thought highly of Gion. There was a regal elegance about him, a level of nobility that went beyond their titles. Gion carried himself with grace, handled crises with calm efficiency—like during the virus outbreak, where Gion had taken charge with a maturity far beyond his years. It frustrated Charles, seeing that kind of competence and being rejected when he suggested they become allies. Gion had turned him down multiple times, and though Charles didn’t dwell on it, it stung. Gion was a tsundere, after all—cold on the outside but always helping them, even when he claimed to hate them.
What really stung was how Gion had begrudgingly accepted Alex. Alex, who was kind and pure-hearted, had earned Gion’s favor in a way Charles hadn’t. It wasn’t jealousy, or at least that’s what Charles told himself. But the truth was, it bothered him. A lot. Gion could be soft and caring, but never towards him.
As his rut drew nearer, Charles found himself growing more and more frustrated, especially when he saw how close Gion was to Livio and Shintarou. He knew they were both betas—Gion’s packmates, his childhood friends. But seeing the Italian prince so protective and soft around them made Charles’ alpha instincts flare with irritation. His inner alpha wanted Gion to rely on him, not just those betas.
Even though he tried to rationalize it, telling himself that Livio and Shintarou were no threat, his alpha still simmered with possessiveness. At least they were betas, he thought, something that made the inner beast within him settle just a little. But the thought only made him angrier. He didn’t want Gion to see him as just another alpha. He hated how everyone else only ever saw his status as a prime alpha, as though that was all that mattered. Growing up, people constantly reminded him how "lucky" he was to be born that way. It made his skin crawl, the way others tried to get close to him because of it, to benefit from his heritage.
The breaking point came during a student council meeting. Charles had snapped at Alex. He almost felt bad about it—Alex didn’t deserve his frustration—but he couldn’t focus on anything else. His alpha instincts were locked onto Gion, watching his every move, noticing every subtle shift in the brunet’s energy. He wasn’t his usual sharp self, slightly less energetic, and Charles couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. His alpha demanded he do something. Bring food. Offer comfort.
When Gion finally dismissed the meeting, Charles didn’t waste a second. He left, determined to find something—anything—that might help. His instincts screamed at him to take care of the omega, to offer him food and comfort. So, he did. And when Gion accepted the food, albeit with a confused look, Charles almost preened. For a brief moment, he felt content, like he had done something right.
But that satisfaction was short-lived when he saw another alpha approach Gion. A surge of possessiveness hit him hard. Charles knew, logically, that no one else at school knew about Gion’s true nature as a prime omega. It was a well-guarded secret. But his alpha didn’t care. The sight of another alpha getting too close to Gion made him see red.
He couldn’t let it happen. He wouldn’t let it happen.
The warmth of Gion’s body, so close and serene, seemed to calm the storm raging inside Charles. His rut, which had been roaring for dominance, finally quieted. Wrapped up in the soothing, intoxicating scent of Gion’s pheromones, Charles felt the tension melt away. It was almost blissful—his alpha instincts quelled by the presence of the omega beside him. His arms had instinctively curled around Gion, their bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. It wasn’t long before Charles dozed off, lulled into a peaceful sleep.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been out, but when consciousness began creeping back, his head was still clouded from the fading remnants of his rut. He slowly blinked, eyelids heavy, taking in the first thing he saw—cobalt blue eyes staring directly into his, barely inches away.
For a moment, Charles froze. The world still felt like a hazy dream, and those sharp blue eyes… could it be?
His mind, still groggy, tried to process. No way… Is that… Gion? Nah, impossible. Must be a hallucination. This rut is really messing with me.
Charles blinked again, dazed, and whispered, “Gion?”
Gion’s lips curled into a saccharine sweet smile, deceptively pleasant. "Good morning, Charles."
Before Charles could fully register the greeting—or the malice lurking beneath it—Gion’s forehead collided with his.
BAM.
"FUCK!" Charles yelped, jerking back as pain shot through his skull. He groaned, clutching his head. "What the hell, Gion?! That fucking hurt!"
Gion winced slightly from the impact but still glared at him. “Serves you right,” he muttered, clearly unimpressed by Charles’ dramatics. Charles could only think one thing, blinking through the pain:
Fuck, he really did bring Gion back to his apartment.
Gion’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he leaned over Charles, arms crossed. “Had a good sleep there, Charles?”
Heat flooded Charles’ cheeks. He spluttered, embarrassment twisting his insides. “I—I wasn’t—”
But instead of denying it, the blonde whined childishly, "Your stupid scent is the one that made me this way!"
Gion scowled, crossing his arms tighter and shooting back, “It was your pheromones that triggered my heat first, you idiot!”
Charles, still reeling from the headbutt and the mortifying situation, retorted, “Well, you didn’t have to follow me back here!”
Gion’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Oh, you just have to have the answer to everything, don’t you?” He muttered something rapid and vicious in Italian under his breath, likely cursing him to all sorts of hells.
Charles, not missing a word, sneered, “Well, apparently I do. Because who in their right mind would follow an alpha in heat back to their den?!”
Gion’s patience snapped. His fingers found Charles’ cheeks, pinching them hard as he growled lowly, “You are insufferable. My God—”
Charles, through squished cheeks, managed to grin mischievously. “Yes, you called?” he quipped sarcastically, voice muffled from Gion’s grip.
Gion’s eyes flared with a mix of exasperation and something else—a spark of annoyance tempered by reluctant amusement. He released Charles’ face, sighing loudly, as if being stuck with him was the worst possible fate.
“You’re lucky,” Gion muttered, rubbing his temples. “If your rut wasn’t cooling down, I’d have thrown you out the window.”
Charles rubbed his sore cheeks, a smug grin still plastered on his face despite the lingering pain. "Lucky? Please, you would miss me."
Gion shot him a glare but didn’t deny it, and Charles couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth spreading through his chest, even in the ridiculousness of their bickering.
Gion finally detached himself from Charles with a frustrated huff, pushing the blonde away as he stood up. Charles, still stunned from the headbutt, watched Gion wander around his apartment like he owned the place. It was surreal—how did this even happen? His rut-addled brain was having trouble piecing it all together. One minute he was battling the relentless instincts of his alpha, and the next, he had somehow roped Gion into coming to his place.
Shit, he thought, blinking hard as he tried to clear the fog in his head. He pocketed his phone out of habit, only to find it missing. Alarmed, Charles glanced around before spotting it resting on the bedside table.
When did he even put it there?
His gaze shifted around the room, taking in the small, telling details. His blazer, which had been draped over his shoulders earlier, now lay neatly in the laundry basket. Charles sighed, realizing Gion must have helped him take it off. Otherwise, he would have overheated in the midst of his rut. That simple act, small yet thoughtful, made his stomach flip.
He really fucked up , Charles groaned internally, running a hand over his face.
This apartment was his sanctuary, the one place he never brought anyone else. It was where he let his guard down, didn’t have to wear the false cherry facade or the perfect prime alpha mask that everyone expected of him. The fact that Gion, of all people, was here, seeing him in such a vulnerable state—it made his head spin.
His inner alpha, however, was smug as hell. It was thrilled to have their omega here, in their space, where Charles could keep him close. That primal, possessive part of him reveled in the idea that Gion was comfortable enough to be in his den.
Charles glanced at the clock on his wall. It was 8:30 pm. He tried to trace back the timeline in his head—he remembered seeing Gion in the school hallway sometime around 5 pm. So, he’d been in this rut for roughly three hours. Three hours that he had lost to his primal instincts, completely overwhelmed and shutting down his rational mind. In that time, he had thoughtlessly hoarded Gion like a treasure, bringing him here, his subconscious overriding everything else.
God, I’m a mess.
Closing his eyes, Charles massaged his temples, trying to relieve the pounding headache that came from both the aftermath of his rut and the sheer embarrassment of the situation. He barely registered the soft footsteps returning to his room until he felt a cool sensation press against his cheek.
Startled, Charles opened his eyes to find Gion standing beside the bed, holding a cold water bottle against his face. The Italian prince wore his usual irritated expression, his cobalt blue eyes sharp as ever.
Before Charles could ask, Gion spoke, his tone sharp with impatience, “You need to stay hydrated during a rut, idiota .”
Charles blinked at him, confused, as Gion added a few choice Italian insults under his breath. “You haven’t had anything to drink since this morning,” Gion continued, glaring. “You were already half out of it, semi-rut all day. Drink.”
Grudgingly, Charles accepted the bottle, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. The cold water felt good, soothing the dryness in his throat, but his mind was still spinning. Gion seemed so… natural, wandering around his apartment, taking care of him in these small but important ways. Charles had no idea how to react. His alpha was practically purring with contentment, while his rational side was struggling to comprehend the shift in their dynamic.
After a few moments of silence, Gion’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Are you… purring?”
Charles froze, bottle halfway to his lips. His eyes snapped to Gion, his mind going blank. “What?”
Gion raised an eyebrow, looking almost amused, but still irritated. “You’re purring,” he repeated, leaning in slightly as if to confirm it.
Charles stared at him, utterly flustered. “I—what? No, I’m not!”
Gion crossed his arms, watching Charles with a smug look that made the blonde's face burn. “You are,” he said flatly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve been purring like a damn cat since I gave you the water.”
Charles’ throat tightened in embarrassment, heat flooding his face. “That’s… that’s not—” He sputtered, not knowing how to respond. Was he really purring? His brain short-circuited at the thought.
Gion smirked, shaking his head as he muttered something in Italian that sounded suspiciously like “ che idiota .”
Charles huffed, quickly turning away and taking another long gulp of water to hide his embarrassment. He was not purring. Except… maybe he was. The more he thought about it, the more aware he became of the low, rumbling sound coming from his chest.
Fuck.
All the while, Gion just stood there, watching him with a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. Charles couldn’t tell what was more mortifying—his body’s response to Gion, or the fact that the omega seemed completely unfazed by it.
“Well?” Gion asked, tapping his foot. “Are you done making excuses, or should I get you another bottle of water so you can purr some more?”
Charles shot him a glare, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just… relaxed.”
Gion rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath again as he walked away, but not without a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Charles groaned in pain, the sudden wave catching him off guard as he clutched his side. Gion, startled by the sound, masked his worry behind a scowl but couldn't stop the concern from coloring his voice.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his sharp tone betraying the subtle anxiety underneath.
Charles grimaced, teeth clenched as he muttered, “Cramps.” His voice was strained, and now that Gion was paying attention, he could see the tension rippling through the blonde's body—how Charles was holding himself rigid, battling against the pain coursing through his muscles.
Gion's brow furrowed, softening his tone as he gently pried, “Where does it hurt?” Charles didn’t respond, his mind fogged by the haze of his rut. “Where, Charles?” Gion's voice softened further, the soothing cadence working its way through the alpha's overwhelming discomfort.
Charles shuddered, his body responding instinctively as he pulled away slightly, kneeling over Gion. The sudden movement brought Gion’s hands up, and Charles caught them, pressing Gion’s fingers into his own taut shoulders. The alpha's muscles were tense, shaking slightly under the strain, and Gion could feel every twitch beneath his touch.
Hesitating for a moment, Gion pressed his fingers lightly into Charles’ shoulders, testing the waters. To his surprise, Charles groaned, the sound vibrating low in his throat as he instinctively pushed back into Gion's touch. Encouraged, Gion applied more pressure, kneading the tight muscles beneath his hands.
The reaction was immediate—Charles doubled over, his forehead coming to rest against Gion’s chest as he let out another groan, this one deeper, more relieved.
“Better?” Gion asked, not expecting much of a response but continuing the gentle massage.
To his surprise, Charles nodded weakly against him, the tension slowly seeping out of his body. The alpha’s deep, rumbling purr filled the space between them, reverberating so loudly that Gion could feel it in his chest.
For a while, they remained like that—Gion working his fingers over Charles’ tight shoulders and upper back, feeling the knots and tension gradually melt away under his touch. The blond prince, in turn, gradually relaxed, his weight sinking against Gion’s smaller frame as his body gave in to the comforting sensation.
As Gion’s hands edged closer to Charles’ neck, the scent hit him. It wasn’t just Charles’ scent anymore—the mix of cedarwood and ice cream soda that always clung to the alpha—but something new, something intoxicating. His own scent was intertwining with Charles', a subtle blend of burnt sugar and coffee, rich and elegant, now wrapping around the both of them.
The room felt warmer, the air thicker with the potent combination of their scents melding together. It felt… right. Natural, even. Neither of them said anything, but Gion couldn’t help noticing how perfectly their pheromones seemed to complement each other, as if they were always meant to blend like this.
Charles lifted his head slightly, his eyes half-lidded as he inhaled deeply, his body seeking comfort in the scent swirling around them. Gion could see it in his gaze—the relaxation, the relief—but something else too. Something deeper. Charles’ eyes were lazy, half-dazed from the relief, but he looked at Gion with a warmth that hadn’t been there before, like he was finally seeing him.
“Your scent...” Charles murmured, voice barely audible against the purring that still thrummed from his chest. He didn’t finish the thought, but Gion didn’t need him to. They both knew what he meant.
Gion swallowed, feeling the weight of Charles resting heavily against him, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, the calm, almost content sensation that had settled over them felt eerily peaceful—too peaceful, considering who they were and their usual dynamic.
But for now, just for now, Gion allowed himself to enjoy the rare moment of quiet, their scents mixing perfectly, filling the space with some unspoken appeal that neither of them would admit out loud.
Not yet, at least.
After that first, almost surreal night at Charles’ apartment, life at the academy returned to normal—or at least, that’s how it seemed to everyone else. Charles and Gion went back to acting cold and indifferent toward each other, the heated looks and pointed remarks as sharp as ever. To anyone observing, they were nothing but rivals, locked in a ceaseless dance of snide comments and tense glares. But beneath the surface, something had shifted.
Each month, almost like clockwork, they would meet discreetly at Charles' apartment. No words were exchanged about it; there was no discussion or planning. It was as if they shared a mutual understanding, an unspoken agreement. When Gion's heat crept up, or when Charles was dragged into his rut, they’d instinctively find their way to Charles’ place, where they would quietly settle into each other’s embrace.
No labels. No talk of what it meant. They’d curl up together, scenting each other deeply, the primal comfort of touch grounding them. They’d bask in each other’s warmth, enjoying a temporary truce. There was no need to address the simmering tension, the emotions they both refused to acknowledge. It was easier to stay silent, to let their pride and rivalry guard them from whatever uncharted territory lay beyond these monthly “arrangements.”
For Gion, Charles was still a threat—his cheerful exterior nothing but a cover for the cunning and ruthless strategist lurking beneath. He could see it in the way Charles watched him, like a wolf circling his prey, waiting to bare his teeth. Charles, on the other hand, saw Gion as a rival, yes, but also as something… more. Gion was the model prince, composed and outwardly cold, but Charles could sense the kindness hidden beneath. It only made him want to ally with him, to pull Gion to his side and peel back that stubborn pride. But he knew Gion was too obstinate, too independent, to accept that kind of alliance.
So instead, they teased and goaded, baiting each other into skirmishes with biting remarks, each too proud to lower their guard. But in the privacy of Charles’ apartment, the walls came down, even if only a little.
Their “rules” were unspoken but clear:
- The sessions were to be strictly platonic—no funny business. Gion had made that abundantly clear, threatening more than once to bite off certain extremities if Charles even thought about it.
- There would be no leaving visible marks. Charles, in a rut haze, had tried to gnaw insistently at Gion’s neck more than once, only to be met with Gion’s fingers gripping his hair and yanking him back, snarling in irritation when Charles bit a little too hard.
- They both had to clean up thoroughly afterward, scrubbing each other’s scents off their skin before returning to the academy. Even the strongest scent blockers couldn't fully mask the way they reeked of each other.
- And, lastly, they wouldn’t speak a word of it to anyone else. What happened in that apartment stayed there.
Over time, Charles started noting the differences in their responses. During his ruts, he found that he could regain composure after a while, though he often pretended to be more affected, feigning a dazed look and exaggerating his neediness to watch Gion soften, almost reluctantly. Gion would fetch him water or urge him to wash up, frowning in annoyance but fussing nonetheless.
Gion, however, was different in heat. His usual collected demeanor shattered; he grew confrontational, blunt with his words and aggressive in his touches. He would growl, his expression sharper, as though he were too lost in the haze to realize how openly he was showing his frustration or opinions. And the best part? He’d often forget most of it. Charles, taking full advantage, would tease him mercilessly afterward, savoring the rare vulnerability he rarely got to see.
On one of their casual evenings, after a particularly grueling rut had run its course, Charles lied on his bed as Gion shuffled around his room, opening the sliding door to his balcony. The silence was comfortable, almost like a kind of post-battle lull.
As Charles’ gaze shifted to the nightstand, he noticed something he hadn’t paid much attention to before—a faint lingering scent on a pack of cigarettes tucked in with Gion’s belongings. He frowned slightly, then turned to Gion with a raised eyebrow.
Gion stood by the sliding door leading to the small balcony, cigarette poised between his fingers as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke. The breeze carried the scent away, but Charles could still catch a faint hint of it from his place on the bed, propped up on one elbow as he watched Gion’s relaxed stance.
He whistled, voice laced with a teasing tone. “Well, who would’ve thought? The mighty, uppity Gion turning to delinquency. Smoking? You’re slipping into a whole new stereotype now.”
Gion rolled his eyes, unimpressed, and took another drag, letting the smoke swirl lazily around him. “Says the guy who growls at every other alpha within a ten-mile radius whenever his rut hits. I’m not the one nearly sparking brawls every month.”
Charles shrugged, an amused smirk playing on his lips. “Touché.”
“Didn’t take you for the type to smoke,” he murmured, his tone half-curious, half-teasing. “You know, those scent-blocking cigarettes… they only mask things for a bit.”
Gion looked at him, his expression unreadable, but his eyes flickered with a touch of challenge. “A necessary measure,” he replied smoothly, not giving much away. “They keep nosy people out of my business.”
Charles chuckled, not missing the subtle jab, and rolled his eyes. “You sure it’s not just because you’re too proud to wear the standard scent patches?” he drawled, watching for Gion’s reaction.
Gion’s lips curved into a faint, sardonic smile. “Pride’s better than smelling like cheap air freshener.”
Charles snickered, leaning back against the headboard, but his gaze lingered on Gion, intrigued. “I dunno, kind of suits you in a way,” he remarked, more to himself than to Gion. There was something oddly fitting about Gion’s scent-blocking habits—another attribute that made the Italian prince so frustratingly snobbish.
Gion rolled his eyes, but there was something softer in his gaze as he glanced at Charles, his posture relaxing just slightly. “I’m not here to be ‘fitting’ for anyone.”
Charles eyed Gion thoughtfully before asking, “So… how long you been smoking?”
There was a pause, Gion’s expression shifting into something unreadable as he considered the question. Finally, he released the smoke from his lips in a slow exhale, extinguishing the cigarette in a nearby flower pot that had long since given up on life. “Pretty early,” he admitted, a casual shrug masking the weight of the memory. “Livio didn’t know what I presented as, and with him being a beta, he couldn’t tell if I wasn’t an alpha. Needed a way to keep the scent hidden.”
He flicked the remaining ash off, his expression almost nostalgic. “I stopped when he found out, but…” he trailed off, glancing at the cigarette in his hand. “Some habits just don’t die.”
Charles hummed softly, almost to himself, before a curious glint entered his eye. “What is he to you?” His tone was even, almost impersonal, but Gion could sense something unspoken beneath the question.
Gion stared back, studying Charles as if trying to find a hint of why he cared, but Charles’s face remained impassive, a mask of detached curiosity. Sighing, he turned away, resting an elbow against the balcony door as he answered in a voice that was both quiet and resolute. “Livio is my… friend, yes. But he’s also more than that.” He paused, adding something in Italian—“uno dei miei,” one of my own, a phrase rich with loyalty and unspoken vows. “In my world, he’s family. And we take care of our own.”
Charles nodded, watching him with a contemplative expression that Gion couldn’t quite decipher. It was rare for Charles to be so quiet, and it left him unsettled, not knowing what was going through the blonde’s mind. So, breaking the silence, he countered with a question of his own. “And Shao Long?”
Charles let out a soft scoff, his posture shifting as he leaned back. “Shao Long?” He rolled his eyes. “He’s just a stubborn punk. Too much of a sore loser to let go of some ancient grudge.”
Gion smirked, watching as Charles’s relaxed posture contrasted with the sharp gleam in his eyes. “Always one to leave your rivals simmering, aren’t you?”
“Guess we have that in common,” Charles murmured, a glimmer of amusement crossing his face. The silence settled again, comfortable this time, an unspoken understanding hanging between them.
Charles had never liked stalemates. In chess, they meant no winner, no clear path to victory, just a forced draw where neither side was truly defeated nor triumphant. Yet somehow, this was exactly where he and Gion had arrived—a perfect balance, neither able to outmaneuver the other, each one subtly countering the other’s moves.
That was, until Anubis entered the picture.