Chapter Text
If anyone asked, Charles was going to blame Ciel for the unfortunate circumstance he landed in.
Charles prided himself on always preparing for the inevitable. As proven with the incident with Shao Long, even at an early age, the blonde knew that it was a cutthroat world he lived in. And as he got enrolled in Momos Academy, he was both impressed and intrigued with the revolutionary ideas Principal Evan was trying to establish in the little quaint island.
Charles was born lucky. He had it all—looks, status, intelligence—but most prominent of all, he was born as a Prime Alpha.
The term “Prime” wasn’t just a throwaway title at Momos Academy; it denoted something far more intense. Prime Alphas and Prime Omegas, the rarest of the secondary genders, were revered, sometimes feared. In other schools or regions, alphas and omegas were often left to navigate the chaotic dynamics of ruts and heats with minimal oversight. But at Momos, the academy’s strict guidelines on behavioral conduct were a different matter entirely.
Every student, regardless of gender or status, was held to an extremely detailed standard. The school’s primary mission was to maintain order and prevent secondary gender conflicts, which was why every student was mandated to wear scent patches or blockers. These patches dulled the pheromonal cues that could set off unintended ruts or heats, and students were given medical certificates (MCs) during especially intense periods of their cycle, excusing them from classes or public settings. It was all part of the academy’s plan to maintain harmony—a stark contrast to other schools that often turned a blind eye to these natural occurrences.
Charles respected the academy’s structure, even if it felt suffocating at times. He’d grown accustomed to it, and with his pack of friends—Albert, Ciel, Leon, and Felix—he felt secure. His friends were supportive and easygoing, betas who didn’t have to deal with the extremes of alpha or omega biology. While they lacked the intensity of his own dynamics, they made up for it with their loyalty and friendship. Charles found their company comforting, but a part of him couldn’t help but feel… intrigued by someone from an opposing pack.
Gion.
Gion was an enigma. The Italian prince held the title of vice president of the student council and carried himself with an air of cold professionalism that immediately set him apart. Charles, having faced his share of rivals, couldn’t help but recognize a kindred spirit in Gion. As a Prime Alpha, Charles believed Gion was the same, and in some ways, he saw Gion as his equal—perhaps even his greatest competition.
Gion was sharp, methodical, and seemingly untouchable. Charles often found himself watching the other prince from afar, curious about what drove him. The idea of another Prime Alpha at the school made him feel less alone in the cutthroat world they inhabited.
Gion, with his perfect grades and immaculate behavior, was the one person Charles could see as a true match for him, someone who understood the weight of being a Prime. It was one of the reasons why he endlessly tried to approach and form an alliance with the Italian prince yet time and time again, the brunete simply brushes him off with the same indifferent look.
When Ciel decided to take on the role of floor manager for an upscale event at another prestigious hall associated with Momos Academy, Charles felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He loved his friends—he really did—but none of them had the level of responsibility needed to handle such a high-stakes catered occasion.
Ciel, who was the high-maintenance type of alpha, had been determined to prove he could be just as capable as Gion, who, unhelpfully, had only snickered and goaded the blonde’s declaration. Charles had known from the beginning that they were doomed. Between Principal Evan’s last-minute changes to the opening and closing ceremonies, the abrupt cancellation by the guest of honor, and the eccentric caterer’s outburst about seating arrangements, it was a miracle that things hadn’t already imploded.
As the event teetered on the edge of chaos, Charles noticed Gion moving with a sense of purpose. While the rest of the student council members were frantically managing the unexpected flood of participants, Gion had volunteered to check on the technical control room to set up the automatic gimmicks for the opening ceremony. Most of the council was too scattered to handle it—many were already caught up in the mounting chaos.
“Mon dieu! There are way more people than expected!”
“Who’s escorting the Chairman of Futurix? He’s already in the lobby!”
“Principal Evan said we need to usher students into the hall, but there aren’t enough seats!”
Charles had been busy managing the panic when he noticed Gion heading off alone. Normally, Livio would have followed close behind, but Gion had ordered his childhood friend to assist Alex with crowd control duties. With the rest of the council scrambling, it seemed Gion had taken it upon himself to ensure the technical setup for the opening ceremony wasn’t derailed.
Still, something about the prince’s calm demeanor rubbed Charles the wrong way. Gion’s ability to handle the pressure with such ease made him seem untouchable, which only fueled Charles' irritation. Without even realizing it, Charles found himself storming after him, the words already forming in his head to tell Gion just how reckless he thought he was being.
He caught sight of Gion just as the door to the technical control room slid shut behind him. Charles picked up his pace, ready to confront him. The technical room controlling the event’s slideshows had blacked out, and the main switch—isolated from the other powerboxes—was inconveniently located in the far-off supply room that Gion had headed toward.
Of course it was.
Charles reached for the door, mouth open, but before he could utter a word, the world tilted.
There was a sudden impact—an automated door that slammed shut too fast for him to react. His breath was knocked out of him before he could even process what had happened.
‘Wait, how did Gion get out?’ Charles thought, realizing that the door had locked them both inside.
"Charles?" came a familiar, confused voice from behind him.
The blonde let out an internal groan. Not only had he gotten himself stuck in the stupid room, but now he was trapped with *Gion*. Just great.
And yet, here they were, stuck together in a closet in the most ridiculous of circumstances.
Charles had to hold back a bitter laugh as he glanced at Gion, who was visibly uncomfortable. Sweat rolled down the Italian’s forehead as his scent—subtle and warm—started to break through the barrier of the scent patches.
Gion glared at Charles from across the cramped, dark room, his rigid stance radiating hostility. “Of all the people I could be stuck with... it had to be you,” he muttered, his tone sharp, though it barely masked the nervous energy beneath his words. The small, enclosed space felt suffocating, and the tension between them was thick, the air electric with the threat of conflict.
Charles scowled in return, though he hesitated. Normally, he would have met Gion’s hostility with a verbal jab or a pointed retort, but this time felt different. The room was too small, too closed in, and the thought of being trapped with another prime alpha in such close quarters was unsettling. His instincts screamed to stay on the defensive, wary of a potential territorial clash.
“Yeah, and you're such a treat to be with, huh?" Charles shot back, trying to sound casual, though he was careful to keep his tone measured. "For the record, you should be thanking me for going after you. Would you rather be stuck here alone?"
Gion’s eyes narrowed, his voice bitter. “Yes, and how impactful your presence here is, given that I’m still stuck,” he muttered, his sarcasm barely hiding the agitation simmering beneath the surface. He shifted his weight, and Charles noticed, for the first time, the slight tremble in Gion’s hands, the way his breathing had quickened ever so slightly. Something was off.
Charles opened his mouth to reply, but something made him pause. Gion, normally so composed, was fidgeting, shifting uncomfortably in the tight space, and beads of sweat had started to gather at his temples. Was it claustrophobia? The tension of two alphas so close, the primal instinct to establish dominance, maybe? But no—something about this wasn’t adding up. His inner alpha stirred restlessly, agitated by Gion’s subtle movements, and it set Charles on edge.
And that was when Charles realized something was very, very off.
“Wait,” Charles called, quickly doing a double take as he stared at the prince, now noticing his heavy breathing and flushed cheeks. “You’re not—aren’t you an Alpha?” he said between rushed breaths.
Gion’s eyes flickered, but he said nothing.
“The fuck—?”
“If you even think of biting me, I’m going to tear your dick off, Charles,” Gion finally drawled out, sounding both exasperated and annoyed, though there was a slight tremor in his voice now.
Charles blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift in tone. “Awh man, the ego on you. You don’t even smell that good,” he scowled, the familiar banter slipping out of him almost reflexively as he tried to process what was happening. “Also, what the fuck, Gion?!”
For a moment, all Charles could do was stare, his brain still reeling from the sudden realization. Gion wasn’t an alpha. He wasn’t even a prime alpha. All this time, he’d thought of Gion as his fiercest rival, his equal, someone who could match him blow for blow—and now, in the most ridiculous, cliché situation, stuck in a closet, the truth had come out.
Gion wasn’t his equal at all.
He was a prime omega.
Gion said nothing, his gaze narrowing. The silence that followed was thick, awkward, and unbearably hot. In the poorly ventilated room, the temperature seemed to rise with every passing second, leaving both Charles and Gion trapped not only by the confined space but by the slow but steady breakdown of their scent patches.
Charles could feel it—his own skin slick with sweat, the patches on his neck and wrists starting to give way to the natural scent he had worked so hard to suppress. It wasn’t just him either. Gion, who usually carried himself with infuriating composure, was looking less composed by the second. His face glistened with perspiration, and his breathing had become heavier, more deliberate. The room felt suffocating, as if their mingling scents were thickening the very air around them.
And that scent…
Charles swallowed hard as his Alpha instincts purred at the intoxicating aroma now filling the room. It was coming from Gion—no, it was Gion. There was something rich and addictive about it, a mix of freshly brewed coffee with an edge of dark chocolate, warm and bitter-sweet at the same time. The scent seemed to curl around Charles’ senses, pulling at his inner Alpha in a way that made his skin itch with restlessness.
This was bad. Really bad.
"Do you… have any scent blockers or suppressants on you?" Charles asked, his voice rough with both the heat of the room and the tension brewing between them. His Alpha side was pushing at him, demanding he do something, anything to ease the discomfort. But he couldn’t—he had to keep his distance.
Gion’s eyes shot to him, teal blue and full of irritation. "Do I look like I have anything on me, Charles?" he snapped, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "If I had blockers, I wouldn’t be stuck in this situation with you."
Charles' scowl deepened, but it was quickly overshadowed by the growing concern as he watched Gion’s chest rise and fall at an increasingly erratic pace. The brunet was practically panting now, his breaths shallow, almost frantic. Gion’s sharpness wasn’t just annoyance—something was definitely wrong.
“Wait…” Charles leaned closer, alarm flashing in his light blue eyes. “Are you in heat?”
Gion glared, still holding on to that biting irritation, though his voice came out in a low growl. "Not yet… but your stupid Alpha pheromones are making it happen faster than it should."
Charles swore under his breath, taking a step back to give Gion some space, but it wasn’t helping. The air between them was saturated with their combined scents, and his Alpha instincts were buzzing, restless with the tension, the proximity, and the increasingly heady aroma. He needed to fix this. He needed to stop whatever was happening before it spiraled out of control.
Frantically, Charles scanned the room, his eyes darting from corner to corner, searching for anything—anything—that might help. But it was a supply room, and aside from cleaning equipment and electrical boxes, there was nothing of use.
"Can’t we—" Charles began, only to cut himself off as Gion let out a deep, frustrated breath.
“My phone has no reception in here.” Gion’s voice was strained now, his lips pressing into a thin line as if just speaking was taking all his concentration. "What about yours?"
Charles’ frown deepened as he glanced down at his own phone, still clutched uselessly in his hand. “Dead.”
“Great.” Gion’s laugh was humorless, a mocking scoff. "So we’re stuck in here, your stupid Alpha scent is throwing me into preheat, and no one is going to notice we’re missing in the middle of all that chaos."
Charles bit back a groan, running a hand through his damp blonde hair, his frustration mounting as the weight of their situation hit him hard. Gion was right. Out there, in the madness of the event, no one was going to notice they’d been gone. Not with everything going wrong, and certainly not when both of their phones were out of commission.
“How is this my fault?” Charles snapped, deflecting his own unease. “I came after you to help. You’re the one who decided to play hero and wander off alone.”
“Because someone had to handle the technical setup for the opening ceremony," Gion shot back, voice still strained. "And Livio was busy dealing with the crowd.”
“Well, look where that got you,” Charles muttered, throwing his arms up in frustration. "Now we’re stuck here, and—"
The words died on his lips as Gion let out another sharp exhale, his head tilting back as he leaned against the wall, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. Charles couldn’t look away, his gut twisting at the sight. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go—he wasn’t supposed to feel… this.
Charles fumbled in the dark, hands grazing over dusty shelves and unused equipment, frustration gnawing at him as he searched for anything—anything—that could help alleviate their miserable situation. The heat in the room was unbearable, and Gion’s increasingly labored breathing only made it worse. He couldn’t ignore the tension between them, the strange pull that was growing stronger by the second.
Meanwhile, Gion stayed curled up on the floor, his back pressed against the cool wall, trying and failing to regulate his breathing. His mind was slipping in and out of a haze, the preheat taking hold of his body and sending waves of arousal and discomfort crashing over him. Every once in a while, his body tensed up from cramps, his muscles clenching painfully, and yet, through the delirium, a thought crept in—a reluctant one, but undeniable.
Despite everything, having Charles near was… comforting.
Gion hated to admit it, even to himself, but the blonde’s presence, as much as it grated on his nerves most of the time, had a weirdly calming effect on him right now. It was unfamiliar, disorienting even, to realize that Charles—of all people—was the one grounding him in this moment, keeping him tethered when his body was betraying him. Normally, Gion would have despised being stuck with Charles like this, but now… now, he wasn’t sure he would prefer to be alone.
The Alpha’s scent was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. It wasn’t just the mixture of ice cream soda and cedarwood—it was deeper, more intense, laced with something wild that made Gion’s omega instincts stir. It made him want to both kiss Charles and cut his throat in the same breath. It made him feel… safe.
And Gion hated himself for it.
He hated that Charles’ scent was the one thing keeping him from completely falling apart. He hated that, despite everything the alpha had pulled in the past—the rivalry, the biting comments, the infuriating arrogance—he couldn’t just blame his reactions on his omega biology. This wasn’t simply about pheromones or instincts.
There was no easy explanation for why he’d gone charging into the technical room when he knew it wasn’t even his responsibility. It should’ve been Ciel’s job as floor manager to deal with the technical issues. Gion should’ve stayed out of it, let the bumbling idiots figure it out for themselves, let them be punished for their incompetence. But no, he’d gone soft. Anubis had been right.
A sharp cramp clenched his abdomen, pulling a whimper from his lips, followed by a broken, bitter laugh. How did everything end up this way? How did all their joint programs turn into absolute disasters? There had to be a curse hanging over them or something—this was the only explanation that made sense.
As Gion wallowed in the chaotic mess of his thoughts and the flaring heat of his preheat, his body betraying him at every turn, Charles' scent still lingered, strong and steady. Gion’s breaths were growing heavier, more labored with each passing second, his body trembling with the effort of keeping control. His mind whirred frantically as he weighed his options, feeling the rising wave of preheat starting to cloud his thoughts. The cramped room, the lack of ventilation, and the proximity to Charles were making it impossible to maintain any semblance of calm.
Finally, as if making up his mind, Gion snapped his head up, his ocean-blue eyes locking onto Charles with sharp intensity. His voice, though breathless, was firm as he demanded, “Scent me.”
Charles froze, staring at him in utter shock. “What?” He couldn’t have heard that right. Gion, the proud Italian prince, was asking him for that ?
“No.” Charles shook his head, disbelief written all over his face. “You’re not thinking clearly, Gion. That’s ridiculous.” His voice was a mixture of hesitation and awkwardness. This was the same person who barely tolerated him, and now he was asking—no, demanding—something so intimate?
“I’m thinking perfectly clear, Charles ,” Gion shot back sharply, his voice biting. He struggled to sit up straighter, though his body fought against him with each cramp. “There’s no way I can stay in this condition with you this close for hours, especially not if my heat kicks in full force. It’s only going to get worse the longer we’re stuck here.”
Charles ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable. “But scenting you? That’s not—it’s not something you just do, Gion! This is crazy.”
Gion’s lips curled into a frustrated snarl. “What’s crazy is you thinking we can make it three or four hours in this tiny room before anyone even notices we’re missing.” His voice dropped, a mixture of anger and desperation. “Do you really want to deal with me when I’m in full heat? Because I can promise you, it’ll be a hell of a lot worse for both of us if we wait until then.”
Charles felt the weight of Gion’s words sinking in. As much as he hated to admit it, Gion had a point. His inner alpha was already on edge, restless from the scent of Gion’s rising pheromones. If Gion’s heat fully hit, things could spiral fast, and the last thing Charles wanted was for the situation to become unbearable.
“And what exactly are you expecting from this? Scenting isn’t some magic fix, Gion.”
“It’ll soothe my omega instincts,” Gion bit out, his tone clipped and impatient. “It’ll keep me grounded and stop me from slipping further into this daze. I’m not asking for anything more. Just—just scent me. It’s practical . Platonic, even.”
Charles couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His rival, his prime alpha rival, wasn’t even an alpha at all—and now, that same omega was asking for his scent to keep from falling apart in a cramped, pitch-black room. He opened his mouth to protest again, but Gion’s heavy breathing and the desperate edge in his voice made him falter.
Charles sighed, feeling cornered in more ways than one. “This… this isn’t something I ever thought I’d be doing with you.” Charles took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing mind and push aside the swirling instincts threatening to take over. He couldn’t afford to lose control, not now, not when Gion was counting on him to help. He forced his inner alpha to the back of his mind, locked away the territorial, protective urges, and took a couple of careful steps back toward Gion. His boots shuffled on the hard floor, the only sound breaking the unbearable tension.
When Charles finally extended his hand, he was surprised when Gion, without hesitation this time, grabbed onto it. Gion’s grip was weaker than usual, but the omega still held a certain bite to his touch, making it clear he wasn’t that vulnerable. Charles couldn't deny the relief that swept through him, knowing that Gion was still holding on—literally and figuratively.
Charles shifted awkwardly, trying not to focus on the fact that the Ice Prince of Italia was now curled up on his lap. His scent filled the confined room, heady and rich, making Charles’ head spin. He had no idea how he could have missed Gion being an omega all this time, but in hindsight, it almost made too much sense.
As he leaned closer to scent the brunet, Charles' mind reeled with memories—ones he hadn't thought about in years. He remembered the day he'd first met Gion, back when they were fifteen. Charles had been so eager back then, naïvely thrilled to meet what he thought was another prime alpha. He'd practically yapped about how great it would be to make friends, thinking they could bond over their shared status. Charles mentally groaned at the secondhand embarrassment he felt for his younger self. God, he was an idiot.
He didn’t have time to linger on the past, though. Gion shifted again, his body trembling against Charles’ lap, and it took everything in him to suppress the wave of desire that crashed through him. He could smell the omega’s scent, the intoxicating mix of freshly brewed coffee and dark chocolate, blending with the slick that clung to Gion’s skin. It filled the small space until Charles could hardly breathe.
“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” Charles muttered, his voice strained as he tried to keep his composure. “Of all the things I expected when I woke up this morning, this wasn’t one of them.”
Gion scoffed, even as another wave of heat made his body tense in Charles’ arms. “Yeah, well, this wasn’t exactly my dream scenario either. Believe me, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be here with you.”
Charles snorted. “Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.” He shifted slightly, trying to ignore the fact that Gion’s weight on his lap was making his body react in ways he definitely did not want to think about. “But hey, look at us. Two prime alphas stuck in a closet, one of us actually being an omega. Real twist of fate, huh?”
“Shut up.” Gion’s response was immediate, sharp despite the clear strain in his voice. “You’re not helping.”
Charles couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. The banter between them, though petty and biting, somehow made the situation a little more bearable. It was better than sitting in awkward silence while Gion’s scent drove him insane.
“I am helping , actually,” Charles said with a smirk, leaning a little closer to Gion’s scent glands as he started to carefully scent him. The act felt surreal—intimate—in ways Charles hadn’t fully anticipated. “Or would you prefer I leave you to stew in your preheat alone?”
Gion stiffened slightly, but didn’t pull away. “You’re such an ass, Charles,” he muttered, his voice laced with frustration. “I’m already dealing with enough without your smart mouth making things worse.”
Charles chuckled lowly. “Well, my scent is apparently helping, so I’ll keep talking if it means keeping you from biting my head off.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Gion snapped, though there was no real venom in his words. “This is just a temporary solution.”
Charles felt a twinge of amusement as he continued to scent Gion, his movements careful, calculated. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on making this a regular thing. But you’ve got to admit… you’re handling it better than I thought you would.”
Gion huffed, his breath shaky but defiant. “Handling you? Please. If I wasn’t in this state, I wouldn’t even be letting you scent me.”
“Oh, believe me, I know.” Charles tried hard not to focus on the fact that the brunet was breathing heavier by the second. “I can’t believe you—mister cold and collected—are actually this wound up.”
Gion's grip on Charles’ sleeve tightened as another cramp hit him, but he shot back with a dry, “If you’re going to talk, at least be useful. Check your phone. Maybe someone’s realized we’re missing by now.”
Charles’ grin faded as he remembered the very dead state of his phone. “Yeah, about that... My phone’s dead.”
“Of course it is,” Gion muttered with exasperation. “Why am I not surprised?”
“What about yours?” Charles asked, though he already knew the answer from their earlier exchange.
“No signal,” Gion bit out, clearly annoyed. “And even if there was, do you really think anyone’s going to notice two princes missing when the whole school is in chaos?”
“Great,” Charles muttered sarcastically, feeling the weight of the situation settling back in. “Guess we’re stuck here until someone finds us.”
The banter, though light, was a thin veneer over the very real tension simmering between them. Charles could feel it in the way Gion’s body occasionally tensed in his lap, in the way their scents mingled in the air, thick and suffocating. They were both on edge, teetering on a knife’s edge of control.
Several days had passed since that incident in the cramped closet. It was almost surprising how easily both Charles and Gion had slipped back into their usual routines, their usual masks of indifference. At first glance, nothing had changed. They passed each other in the halls of Momos Academy with the same curt nods and cold stares, exchanged sharp remarks in student council meetings, and maintained the carefully crafted facade of rivals who barely tolerated one another.
But sometimes, when the bustle of the academy quieted down, Gion found himself pausing, replaying that moment in his mind. The feeling of Charles’ arms around him, the scent of him so close, calming his omega pheromones like it was the most natural thing in the world. It unsettled him.
Why had he asked Charles to scent him? Why him of all people?
Gion had never thought much of Charles before. The American prince was all show, with his easy charm and that ridiculous, almost infuriating grin. They were both prime alphas—or so Gion had thought—and it seemed inevitable that they’d clash from the start. It wasn’t personal. It was a matter of pride, of status. Rivals, as they were meant to be.
But now, that word—rival—felt hollow.
Gion shifted uncomfortably in his seat in the student council office, pretending to read through a stack of reports while his mind wandered back to that day. He had acted impulsively. He had let his guard down in a way that was unlike him. He was always composed, always in control, and yet… in that moment, with his heat threatening to break through, he had turned to Charles.
He clenched his jaw at the memory, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He hadn’t been thinking clearly. That was the only explanation. It was just the heat, the desperation clouding his mind. But then, why was he still thinking about it now? Why did the thought of Charles’ scent—strong, steady, and somehow reassuring—linger in his mind?
Across the room, Charles sat at his usual spot, flipping through papers with an air of nonchalance. He didn’t look any different. If anything, he seemed to be carrying on as if nothing had ever happened. He was still cocky, still irritatingly laid-back, still so... unbothered. It drove Gion mad.
How could Charles be so unaffected by it? How could he act like it didn’t mean anything?
Maybe it didn’t. Maybe Gion was reading too much into it. After all, it was a temporary solution, just as Charles had said. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. But Gion couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them, even if neither of them wanted to admit it. Even if they both pretended it hadn’t happened.
Gion sat at his desk in the student council room, a stack of papers in front of him that he wasn’t really reading. His eyes flicked up occasionally, surveying the other members scattered around the room, and his mind wandered, cataloging them one by one, just as he always did. It was a habit—no, more like a survival mechanism. Gion knew how to categorize people. It made things simpler, cleaner, knowing where everyone stood in his mental hierarchy.
Princes Ciel and Felix were the easiest to place, two ridiculous fools of a prince, constantly wrapped up in their own antics. Ciel with his endless bickering and Felix with his boisterous energy—together, they made enough noise to drown out entire meetings if left unchecked. Gion had little patience for either of them, though he had to admit, in his quieter moments, they were almost amusing in their predictability. Almost.
Albert and Leon, on the other hand, were the ones who must have lost brain cells each time they indulged Ciel and Felix’s antics. Albert, ever the proper Englishman, could be drawn into their silliness without even realizing it, and Leon, usually the smartest in the room, somehow always ended up humoring Felix’s wild ideas. It was almost painful to watch sometimes.
Then there was Shintarou—Prince of Japan and one of the few people Gion could consider a close ally. Reserved, distant, but reliable when it mattered. They shared an understanding, a mutual respect built on a foundation of efficiency and logic. Gion appreciated that. There was no need for pretense with Shintarou.
And, of course, Livio. Gion’s aide, his shadow. Gion took care of what was his, and Livio was no exception. The beta had been by his side since childhood, always steady, always loyal. There was no need to analyze Livio; Gion knew exactly where he stood—at Gion’s side, where he belonged.
As for Alex, the student council president and the principal’s son, Gion found him to be more of a nuisance than anything. Yet, begrudgingly, Gion had to admit that the younger boy had some undefined charm. It wasn’t charisma in the traditional sense, but Alex had a way of influencing people, slowly, like a creeping tide. Gion couldn’t dismiss him entirely, even if Alex’s innocence grated on his nerves.
Shao Long was easy to place too. The sneaky fox, always playing games and trying to outwit others. Gion had bested him more times than he could count, though, so Shao Long was of little concern. Impulsive, easily manipulated—Gion almost pitied him for thinking he could ever outmaneuver the likes of him.
But Charles... Charles was different.
As his eyes drifted toward the blonde prince sitting casually on the other side of the room, Gion felt that familiar surge of frustration rise in his chest. Charles was the most difficult one to place. Gion couldn’t consider him an ally, no matter how many times the American prince insisted otherwise. There was something about Charles—something dangerous, lurking beneath that friendly, innocent facade he wore like a second skin. A serpent, ready to flash its fangs. Gion wasn’t fooled.
But he couldn’t call Charles an enemy either. Gion considered enemies as obstacles, things that needed to be eliminated to ensure they didn’t stand in his way. Charles wasn’t vying for the same goals, nor did he have any motive to tear Gion down. In that sense, he wasn’t a direct threat. Not yet, anyway.
The closest Gion had come to defining Charles was as a rival, but even that fell short. Rivals were supposed to acknowledge each other’s strength, each striving to outdo the other. Yet Charles never seemed to treat him like a true rival. Every time they clashed, Charles would smile that infuriatingly calm smile, those sky blue eyes filled with a superficial warmth that made Gion want to scream.
“I want us to be allies,” Charles had said to him countless times, always with that same irritating sincerity. It pissed Gion off more than anything. It felt as though Charles didn’t even consider Gion’s capabilities on par enough to be his rival. As if Gion was someone to be pulled to his side, not someone to be wary of.
Gion clenched his fist, eyes narrowing as he watched Charles laugh at something Felix had said. It made him seethe—how easily Charles could wear that mask of innocence, how he could pretend like he wasn’t just as ruthless, just as dangerous underneath. Gion knew that side of him, had seen glimpses of the darkness that lurked beneath the surface. He wanted more than just a glimpse.
He wanted to wipe that look from Charles’ face. He wanted Charles to acknowledge him, to truly see him as a threat. He wanted to see Charles’ mask crack, to see the facade crumble, to witness the blonde brought to his knees. He wanted Charles in front of him, vulnerable, pitiful, and begging for mercy. Gion wanted that more than anything.
Yet, even as those thoughts simmered in the back of his mind, Gion couldn’t deny that part of him—the part that had asked for Charles’ help in the closet, the part that had sought comfort in the warmth of Charles’ arms—was conflicted.
Charles was dangerous. But Gion wasn’t sure if he wanted to destroy him, or if he wanted something far more complicated than that.
Something was wrong with Charles.
Not that Gion cared, of course. It wasn’t his concern if Charles was in a sour mood, but it was starting to interfere with the student council’s work, and that was unacceptable. The entire council had been on edge lately, forced to endure the fallout of Charles’ sudden change in temperament. Principal Evan had conveniently chosen this time to saddle them with entertaining another entourage of noble students from the Nordic countries, making things all the more miserable.
Charles had never been what one would call a happy pacifist, but Gion was only accustomed to a certain level of grumpiness from the blonde. Lately, however, Charles’ mood had far exceeded the tolerable limit, and it was affecting the entire council. The shift was undeniable.
The strangest part was that Charles wasn’t directing his newfound ire toward anyone in particular. He hadn’t even confronted Gion about the revelation that Gion was an omega—something Gion had expected but hadn’t cared enough to fret over. Gion wasn’t ashamed of his secondary gender, after all. He didn’t have time for such trivial concerns. Meritocracy was how he viewed people, and he judged them based on their skills, not their biology. But still, Gion could feel it—the agitation, the anger—and something else, something that scratched at the edges of his awareness whenever Charles was nearby.
Today was no different.
The student council room was buzzing with activity, though the usual flow of work was strained by the tension emanating from Charles. Gion glanced over at him, watching as the blonde prince sat at the end of the table, a deep frown creasing his brow. His fingers drummed impatiently on the surface, and Gion noted how everyone else seemed to be walking on eggshells around him.
Alex, ever the optimist, was the first to break the silence.
"Charles… is something wrong?" Alex asked, his voice soft, cautious.
It was the wrong move.
Charles snapped. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? I said I’m fine, didn’t I?” His words were sharp, laced with a bitterness that made Alex visibly flinch.
The room went still.
Alex’s expression faltered, and Gion could see the hurt in his eyes, the way his shoulders hunched as if the blow had been physical. Yet, Charles didn’t seem to care. He didn’t even acknowledge the effect his words had. Gion caught a glimpse of Ciel from the corner of his eye, the French prince looking unusually uneasy. Even he was bothered by the sharp leak of pheromones from Charles—something prime alphas were notorious for. It was too potent, too heavy in the air.
Gion sighed. This wasn’t going to end well.
Before things could escalate further, Gion stood abruptly. “We’re putting the meeting on hold,” he announced, his voice cutting through the tension with the authority of someone used to taking charge. He didn’t miss the dark, pointed look Charles shot him, the unspoken challenge in his eyes, but Gion ignored it. He had no interest in engaging with Charles’ mood.
Without a word, the rest of the council quickly filed out. Even Alex, still nursing the sting of Charles’ outburst, hurried after the others, his head down. Shintarou had been the first to leave, mumbling something about needing to head to the computer lab.
Livio, ever attentive, leaned closer to Gion once they were alone, his voice low. “He’s been in an odd mood lately, hasn’t he?” It was more of an offhand comment, but Gion could hear the subtle concern in his tone.
Gion was about to reprimand Livio for concerning himself with the affairs of the other princes when a low, dangerous growl echoed from across the room.
Charles.
He was still there, standing now, glaring at the two of them from across the room. His annoyance was palpable, and though Livio, being a beta, couldn’t sense or smell the anger in the air, Gion could. The alpha’s pheromones were suffocating, simmering with barely-contained rage.
Gion’s jaw tightened. He tried to ignore it, focusing instead on keeping his composure, but the pressure was too much. His mind drifted, unbidden, to the teachings of Nonno, to his duties, to the myriad of tasks that filled his days, but they offered no reprieve from the weight of Charles’ presence.
He could sense the way Charles was watching him, could feel the unspoken challenge in the air between them. Gion had never been one to back down from a confrontation, but this wasn’t a fight he could win by sheer force of will.
Charles’ anger wasn’t just directed at him—it was something deeper, something raw, and that made it all the more dangerous.
“Leave it, Livio,” Gion muttered quietly, his eyes locked on Charles. “He’s not our concern.”
Gion walked down the empty hallway alone, his footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. He had dismissed Livio earlier, who’d ‘claimed’ he was summoned by their PE teacher for some mysterious errand. Shintarou had already returned to their dorms, leaving Gion with an unusually rare free period. Most students were scattered across the campus, busy with their own affairs, but Gion enjoyed the silence. He preferred the solitude, the chance to think and let his mind wander without the constant interruptions of his duties.
His stomach rumbled lightly, pulling him from his thoughts. With a quick glance around, he eyed a nearby vending machine, stocked with nothing but junk food—nothing particularly appetizing, but his hunger was growing. He took a step toward it, contemplating whether to indulge, when suddenly, something was shoved in front of his face.
Two rolls of sandwiches, wrapped neatly in plastic, practically blocked his vision.
Before he could react, a firm hand gripped his shoulder, steadying him as he instinctively staggered back in surprise. He turned sharply to his left, his most sensitive side, and his breath caught as he saw Charles, standing closer than he should have been, practically shoving the sandwiches into his hands.
Gion blinked, momentarily caught off-guard. “What…?” The words barely escaped his lips. Charles' hand lingered on his shoulder for a beat too long before finally pulling away.
Charles’ face was a mask of irritation, his sky-blue eyes narrowed, not giving Gion the slightest hint of explanation. The agitation rolling off him was palpable, and Gion could sense the weight of his pheromones—slipping through the cracks of his scent patches—domineering, potent, and dangerously unstable.
Gion frowned, his instincts buzzing. “What are you doing?” he asked, still holding the sandwiches, perplexed at the sudden act of… kindness? It didn’t make sense.
Charles didn’t respond immediately. His mouth was set in a tight line, and his usual playful façade was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was only tension—a sharp, simmering anger that Gion could feel, but not fully understand. When Charles finally spoke, his voice was clipped, almost mechanical. “Just eat.”
Gion opened his mouth to argue, to demand answers for the odd behavior, but he quickly caught sight of a few students passing by in the hallway. He hesitated, unwilling to make a scene. Reluctantly, he accepted the sandwiches and shoved them into his bag, still bewildered.
They started walking side by side down the hall, but Gion wasn’t quite sure why. It took him a moment to realize that Charles was leading the way, guiding them both as if it were natural. Gion’s thoughts were spinning, torn between the blonde’s strange behavior and the suffocating pheromones leaking out of his scent patches. Something was off—deeply off—and Gion’s usual sharp focus felt muddled, distracted by the swirling intensity surrounding Charles.
Gion, ever the antagonist, tried to prod Charles, hoping to get some sort of reaction. “What’s with you today? Trying to make yourself useful for once?” His tone was biting, meant to elicit the usual sarcastic retort, but Charles barely responded with more than a grunt.
Frustrated, Gion continued, “Did you get in trouble with Principal Evan again? Or is it something else?”
Again, no real response. Just a brief, clipped “No.”
They kept walking, Gion growing increasingly agitated. He was trying to provoke Charles, to get any semblance of the usual banter out of him, but the blonde wasn’t biting. His replies were cold, detached, and Gion couldn’t stand it. Why wasn’t he responding?
Suddenly, they bumped into one of Gion’s classmates—an alpha, but not someone Gion was particularly close to. As the vice president of the student council, Gion kept things cordial with all his peers, even those who weren’t part of his inner circle.
“Urmmm, excuse me, Prince Gion,” his classmate greeted, offering a quick smile. “Thanks again for those notes the other day. I was hoping—”
Before the conversation could continue, Charles growled. A low, dangerous sound that seemed to echo in the hallway. The pheromones Charles was leaking spiked, heavy and suffocating, and the classmate visibly recoiled, his alpha instincts clearly not enough to stand up to a prime alpha like Charles.
Charles stepped forward, his eyes narrowing with a chilling intensity. “If you aim too high, it’ll be a bother for both of us,” he said, his tone cold and threatening.
Gion’s classmate stiffened, his confidence crumbling under the weight of Charles’ presence. With a quick, frightened nod, he scurried off without another word, leaving Gion standing in stunned silence.
“What the hell?” Gion turned on Charles, his voice sharp with incredulity. “Charles, managgia! Are you out of your mind? What the hell is wrong with you?”
Charles’ eyes flickered with something dark, something dangerous. He hissed back, his expression wild and unhinged, and for a moment, Gion thought about shoving him away in sheer frustration. But before he could, their hands brushed—just for a moment.
Gion froze.
Charles’ skin was burning, feverish. Too hot.
Gion’s eyes widened, realization dawning on him as his heart skipped a beat. “You’re in rut?” he whispered, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
Charles didn’t deny it. He didn’t need to. The intensity in his eyes, the suffocating pheromones, the overwhelming heat—it all made sense now.
Charles was barely holding it together.