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To high schooler Fujiki Yuusaku, everything about spring was aggravating. After all, it wasn’t just harmless flowers that flourished in this season of growth—it was also the relentless buzzing of mosquitoes, the surge of poisonous weeds, and his own restless body, driven into motion by hormones he could barely control.
Before heading to the clubroom where Kougami-senpai would be, Yuusaku detoured to the washroom for a quick rinse, hoping it might help him cool down and regain some composure.
He splashed a handful of tap water onto his face, trying to ease the feverish flush brought on by his unstable pheromones—only to realize, with some disappointment, that in this cursed season, even the water from the tap had been warmed by the sun.
Raising his head, he stared into the mirror. His eyelashes were wet, and droplets clung to the ends of his hair. Come to think of it, for someone so bad at socializing, he did get quite a few compliments on his appearance.
Whether they described him as “cute,” “pretty,” or “handsome,” he didn’t much care. But now that he was at the threshold between adolescence and adulthood, he couldn’t help but feel irritated by the thought that from here on out, people would begin evaluating his looks in relation to his gender and sex.
Even after washing his face thoroughly, his eyes still felt itchy and sore, like something was caught in them. What was it causing this discomfort? Dust blown in by the spring breeze? Pollen stirred up by the wind? Or—
The moment he reached that third possibility, Yuusaku’s posture grew stiff. Because the answer once again linked to that one certain person.
His relationship with Kougami Ryoken had always been complicated, and puberty’s rough terrain had only added more chaos to the already unpredictable script of their lives.
Following the implementation of anti-discrimination policies, students now had the right to keep their secondary gender private. Even so, the school maintained a firm rule: any student or faculty member who had already presented and was entering heat had to wear a suppressant collar.
Which meant, of course, that whether someone was wearing a collar had become a clear sign—of whether they’d already grown up, or whether they were currently in heat.
Over time, the collar had taken on meanings beyond its function. It became a fetishized object, a symbol charged with a kind of secondhand allure. Wearing all sorts of suppressant collars—or even decorative chokers—had quietly become part of fashion itself.
It was just an accessory, nothing more. So why had it come to mean so much?
Fujiki Yuusaku had never quite understood the appeal of this trend—until recently, when he’d caught a glimpse of that thin, fine metallic band around his crush’s neck.
In that one panicked moment, something he hadn’t dared to understand suddenly clicked into place.
“Has Kougami-senpai already presented?”
On his way to escape the classroom, heading toward the clubroom where his upperclassman would be, Yuusaku had overheard his classmates talking. That peculiar teenage curiosity—they were discussing something that was, in truth, rather private. And for some reason, it made him feel incredibly uneasy. His fingers spun the pen in his hand as if it could settle his restless thoughts.
“He’s really the type you’d admire… He must be an Alpha, right?”
“Yeah, definitely. He’s strong-willed and has real presence. Of course he’s an Alpha.”
These remarks weren’t disrespectful, strictly speaking—but they were deeply irritating.
And suddenly, Yuusaku found himself picturing his senpai’s face—not that forceful, charismatic figure his classmates described, but a much wearier, gloomier image.
That day, Kougami-senpai had been leaning against the bookcase in the corner of the clubroom, still wearing his earbuds after what seemed like a phone call with his family, his grip tight around his phone, head lowered in silent thought.
There was nothing wrong, really, with looking at someone’s back. If anything, it was an expression of admiration.
But the moment the cold gleam of metal on his senpai’s warm-toned skin caught his eye, Yuusaku couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to.
Senpai usually kept that equipment hidden beneath the high collar of his uniform. But teenagers were curious, and sharp-eyed. It didn’t take much to unravel a mystery like that.
Even Yuusaku—who’d never been one for gossip, and never mentioned the collar to anyone—soon found that its existence had already become a hot topic among his classmates.
“There’s no way he’s an Omega, right? He’s so handsome, and totally masculine…”
“Yeah, he’s different from the rest of us. He’s got this grown-up vibe. Looks like his body’s already developed, too.”
Fleeing from his classmates’ talk of sex and genders, Fujiki Yuusaku wanted to hide somewhere far removed from all of it. But when he came to his senses, he realised that once again, his footsteps had carried him back toward that person.
He’d had far too many chance encounters with Kougami-senpai for it to be just coincidence. And while Yuusaku could admit there was something undeniably romantic and dramatic about their repeated crossings of paths, he was also starting to suspect the whole situation felt like some kind of looped haunting.
They had met ten years ago, brought together by a shared love for the same game. Back then, they’d spent their days side by side—inseparable. Partners in co-op, rivals in PvP. For Yuusaku, who had been quiet and introverted—practically a shut-in—Ryoken had been the perfect companion.
And more than that: whenever Yuusaku had felt upset or overwhelmed, the younger Kougami would always be there at his side, doing everything he could to ease his troubles. Over time, Yuusaku came to depend on him, came to believe he could entrust his pain and weakness to someone who would always understand him. Kougami was a kindred soul, a precious friend.
Even in Kougami’s elementary school graduation yearbook, Yuusaku had written a comment both innocent and earnest:
“Let’s seize a brand-new future together.”
But the world had other plans. They ended up attending different middle schools. They kept in touch, but their common ground gradually faded. Yuusaku had always been awkward with people, different from others in ways he couldn’t explain—but even he could tell that Kougami was often in a bad mood.
Yuusaku wanted to support him. But he couldn’t stop the creeping suspicion:
What if it’s my insistence on chasing after him that’s part of what’s weighing him down?
And so, out of concern for Kougami’s state of mind, Yuusaku began to think maybe he shouldn’t get too close.
But even trying to follow in Kougami’s footsteps was no simple task. Kougami, slightly older, always entered new stages of life just ahead of him—and Yuusaku could only stumble along in his wake, trying his best to catch up.
Of course, Yuusaku never gave up. He studied hard to enter the same high school, worked tirelessly to hone his programming skills and join the same club. He approached Kougami again with a quiet hope of rebuilding their connection.
What he hadn’t expected was to be met with the shock of a “Kougami-senpai” who was now polite, composed, a little aloof.
Even though he’d never stopped chasing him, never once let go of the desire to draw close again, Kougami still seemed to remain in a place slightly apart from him—never too far, but never quite within reach.
Not long ago, on a whim, Yuusaku revisited the game they’d both loved as children. It had been a while. All he found was Kougami-senpai’s profile, with the words “Last login: five years ago” displayed coldly beneath his name.
Not long after that, the game’s age caught up with it. The publisher finally ended all support. On the day it was officially shut down, Yuusaku, for once, found himself oddly sentimental. He thought about sharing that feeling with the friend who had once loved the game as much as he did—but then he saw the line in Kougami-senpai’s social media bio: “Schedule full. Do not disturb unless business-related.”
He had never given much thought to hazy notions like “childhood” before. But in that moment, he felt its end with painful clarity.
When did we last talk as children? When did we start becoming adults—separated by these strange, artificial categories?
Yuusaku had considered letting go of his fixation. It wasn’t that he wanted to sever their bond—it was just that, if Kougami no longer wished to be disturbed, then perhaps his persistence was nothing more than selfish entanglement.
Back in middle school, when they’d had to part ways, Kougami had said it seriously, even solemnly: “Then let’s meet again when our paths cross.”
Yuusaku had always believed in that promise. Believed they could still seize the future, together.
But sometimes he couldn’t help wondering—maybe their lives were like parallel lines, always extending side by side, never truly touching. A part of him resisted that thought. Yet if it was what Kougami wanted, then he would learn to accept it.
He had, in fact, made his peace with that possibility. But fate, it seemed, had something else in mind.
Shortly after joining the club, they were suddenly assigned to collaborate on the same programming project.
Their paths had indeed intersected again.
But the feelings Yuusaku had only just begun to lay to rest were stirred up all over again. He found himself unable to speak to Kougami more openly, unable to breach the quiet space between them. So he kept to the proper distance expected between project partners, working alongside him in silence.
The good news was apparent: their old sense of teamwork hadn’t dulled one bit.
The bad news was just as obvious: even with that same wordless rhythm between them, the gap carved out by years apart was not something easily crossed.
Still, even if he could never return to the childhood he’d shared with the person who once gave him courage… he could at least try to reach who he was now.
But the closer Yuusaku came to the clubroom where Kougami-senpai spent his time—closer to the very heart of that swirling centre of gravity—the more unsettled he felt.
No, rather than calling it a strange feeling, it would be more accurate to say: a strange smell.
A sharp, overwhelming floral fragrance hit him square in the nose, like a perfume bottle had been smashed open right in front of him. Caught completely off guard, Yuusaku had the surreal illusion he was drowning in a sea of roses.
Disastrous news. Only those who had not presented—or sensory-dull Betas—wouldn’t be able to detect such a scent. The fact he could smell it… meant he had, inescapably, “grown up.”
From now on, it wouldn’t just be the bitterness of distant friendships or the frustration of wanting what he couldn’t have. Even troublesome desire was now going to interfere with the bond between them?
Even someone as self-contained and steadfast as Yuusaku could feel it: things had become uncomfortably, perilously complicated.
“…The collar’s broken,” Kougami-senpai said quietly, turning his head just enough to show the slim metal device at his neck. “Fujiki-kun, would you mind taking a look and seeing if you can fix it?”
It wasn’t rational to be upset over something so trivial, and yet Yuusaku couldn’t help the quiet grumble that slipped out. Back when they were just kids… back when they were still inseparable playmates, this person had never spoken to him so formally.
They’d always been side by side—playing card games, challenging each other in friendly duels, losing track of time in the sort of make-believe adventures only children believed in. Whether it was a gentle word of comfort or a cocky, teasing provocation, it always ended simply with “Yuusaku.”
If Yuusaku, as an orphan, had always resembled some lone wanderer in the stereotypical storybooks, then Ryouken—trapped in a strict and unhappy home—was more like a princess locked away in a tower. But in their shared world of games, instead of playing such roles, they had always been equals: companions on a joint quest, rivals in contests of skill.
Yuusaku said nothing as he began to examine the collar. The outer shell was intact, but the electronic clasp had shorted out. Worse, the inhibitor cartridge had been shattered by some kind of impact, and its contents had leaked. Most of the suppressant had already evaporated, and the oceanic scent it carried was now giving way to something far stronger—the thick fragrance of roses, raw and concentrated.
For one strange moment, Yuusaku had the illusion that the childhood friend before him had vanished, replaced by a blooming, suffocating field of flowers.
Panicked by the thought, he tried harder to focus on the technical issue at hand—but his attention kept being pulled elsewhere, dragged toward the increasingly detailed awareness of the other’s body. Beads of sweat traced a line down his neck and spine. He was trembling.
Adolescent desire was a dangerous beast—and had to be locked away in this narrow steel cage.
The collar itself was cold to the touch. But where it pressed against Kougami-senpai’s skin, it was subtly warm. As Yuusaku adjusted the device, his fingertips brushed against skin that radiated heat, quivering ever so slightly with a pulse—perhaps from a carotid artery, perhaps from the glands beneath.
Yuusaku flinched. He felt an immediate loathing for his own reaction—this fleeting, instinctive tremble. He lowered his head and tried to carry on with the repair, hands moving quickly, almost mechanically. But his nerves betrayed him, and the pressure of his grip grew too forceful. The collar jerked. For a second, Kougami-senpai let out a faint gasp—almost a sob, really.
Yuusaku apologized at once.
It was the correct, defensive response—but the apology hadn’t stopped something foreign from taking root in his thoughts. That unfamiliar sensation grew in the disordered corners of his mind like unchecked seedlings of weeds, feeding on the cracks in his concentration.
…It had only lasted a second.
But there was no denying it: in that moment, a forbidden image had flashed across his mind—of their bodies entwined, too close, far beyond the bounds of friendship.
The more Yuusaku thought about it, the more nauseated he felt. His classmates delighted in discussing “adolescence” and “heat” as if they were gossip-worthy novelties—but to think that his own reaction just now might be related to that…
Was the person he’d long admired really an Alpha, as the rumours claimed?
He honestly didn’t know how to deal with the thought, because what had surged through him just now hadn’t felt like the kind of attraction people usually described when talking about Alphas.
And yet, wasn’t it strange to be concerned about that sort of thing at all?
The more he dwelled on it, the worse his mood became—like an invisible rose had taken root in his brain, the thorns tangling up his thoughts until his mind ground to a halt.
He managed to patch up the collar. Technically, it was functional again—but the cartridge inside was all but empty. The suppressant had nearly run out.
How unfortunate. The suppressant couldn’t take effect, and his own discomfort, fed by a rising sense of… hunger, was only growing harder to ignore.
Assessing the situation calmly, Yuusaku gave a stiff, ordinary excuse. “I need to go.”
“Stay,” said Kougami-senpai. His voice was firm—almost commanding. Yuusaku didn’t dislike being spoken to that way, but what unsettled him was his own response: the subtle thrill that ran through his body, born of something far too close to excitement.
The older boy added, with a more rational explanation: “We’ve got a heavy workload lately. I need your help.”
Yuusaku relaxed, just slightly. And yet… he couldn’t deny the flicker of disappointment that followed.
Still, he was quick to rein in his emotions. No matter what dangerous impulses stirred inside him, he kept his tone light—scolding, even. “You should be resting, senpai. You feel kind of feverish.”
He reached out, intending to check Kougami’s temperature. But at the last moment, the gesture felt too intimate, too familiar. His hand hovered awkwardly in the air.
It was a bit embarrassing—but Kougami gave a soft laugh, saving him from the moment. “No need. If we’re both burning up, we won’t notice the difference.”
Was it just his imagination, or…? Somehow, Kougami-senpai had leaned in too close. Yuusaku’s eyes, drawn against his will, drifted from that composed expression to the open collar at his throat. A silent alarm flashed in his head: Careful—this is dangerous.
Not because Kougami was a threat—but because something inside him was beginning to stir.
“…If you’re not feeling well, I could go buy an ice pack,” he offered hastily.
Kougami’s smile this time looked a little pained.
It caught Yuusaku off guard. It had been so long since he’d seen a true emotion on this person’s face—either pain, or a smile.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Kougami said bluntly, unusually direct for someone so guarded.
“You think so too, senpai?”
He could’ve dodged the topic. He could’ve walked away. But that wasn’t Yuusaku’s way. Overstepping was in his nature—and so was honesty. “For a long time, I thought the same about you.”
“…Because you promised—”
There was a flicker across Kougami’s face then, a subtle change in expression Yuusaku didn’t have time to interpret before the older boy’s tone returned to its usual, professional cadence.
“—You promised we’d finish this project together. That’s all I’m asking you to do.”
“I’ll keep my promise,” Yuusaku said at once. “But if that’s the only reason you want me to stay…”
He trailed off, gaze steady.
“…Then why does it feel like there’s something more?”
There it was again—his tendency to speak too plainly, to pierce through pretence even when he wasn’t sure if he should.
Kougami-senpai looked at him with an unreadable expression before turning his gaze to the window. His tone was even, almost detached, as he said,
“Puberty really is a pain, isn’t it? It’s not just your body and mind that start acting strange—people around you start changing too.”
He had spoken aloud what Yuusaku had struggled to articulate. The latter couldn’t help but silently nod in agreement. It wasn’t as though he’d asked for this. His body had begun to grow and change without his permission, and his relationships with the people he cared about had become tangled and awkward. He’d hoped that when the time came, he’d be able to reconnect with the ones who once meant the most to him—but instead, everything had grown more complicated. And for someone like Yuusaku, who’d never been good at navigating social interactions, that made things even harder to bear.
He opened his mouth to ask what Kougami himself thought about all of this—but the next words that came caught him entirely off guard.
“That’s why,” said Kougami, tone still casual, “I thought it’d be nice to have someone with me. Especially you.”
What was that supposed to mean?
What was he thinking? What did he think of me?
And what exactly was this relationship between us?
A mess of thoughts surged into Yuusaku’s head. Desires he had refused to acknowledge floated to the surface, and in a half-conscious daze, he imagined them pressed close together like newborn animals—clumsy, vulnerable, drawn to each other by some nameless instinct. His yearning was no longer so easy to separate from longing, no longer so easily written off as just affection.
“…I think there’s a thermometer and some fever medicine in the club room. I’ll go get it.”
Flustered, he all but fled. He rummaged around until he found the thermometer they’d once borrowed from the nurse’s office, then returned with a poorly concealed sulk, embarrassed by the way Kougami seemed to be watching his every movement with a hint of amusement.
He hesitated awkwardly in front of him, unsure how to proceed. Kougami spread his hands in a theatrical shrug, as if to say, What? Do you expect me to undress in front of you?
“…Oral temperature should be fine,” Yuusaku muttered, frowning, as if trying to rationalise his unnecessary reaction.
But as Kougami loosened his collar, Yuusaku’s eyes couldn’t help but drift. Beneath the thin layer of fabric, skin—a bit pale and warm-looking—caught the light. And before he could stop himself, the scent in the air, the heat pulsing through his blood, pushed a grotesque vision into his mind:
He saw himself burying his mouth against the other’s throat like some mindless predator, intoxicated and hungry. He wanted to bite down, to suck the air and blood from his veins as if only that could make him feel alive again—as if that was the only way he could remember how to breathe.
It was such a vivid, animal thought that for a moment he worried Kougami might somehow have sensed it.
And perhaps he had.
Kougami leaned in—too close. He brought his nose to Yuusaku’s neck, sniffing softly, an action that from any distance could have been mistaken for something tender, even lascivious. Then, as if confirming a suspicion, he reached out and hooked his finger under Yuusaku’s narrow tie, tugging it upward in a way that made Yuusaku freeze.
For a strange, vertiginous second, he felt like a beast being toyed with by a tamer—and the tie in Kougami’s fingers, like a leash around his neck.
A flush rose quickly up Yuusaku’s neck. Kougami seemed pleased by the reaction, though he himself was clearly suffering too—his composure fraying under the fever of his body, caught somewhere between control and collapse.
“So that’s what it was. I thought it was the scent of the wisteria blooming outside.”
He gave the tie a sharp tug, bringing their faces dangerously close. Yuusaku, caught off guard, instinctively braced himself for a kiss—but instead, Kougami lowered his head and brushed a single kiss—not to his lips, but to the strip of cloth still held in his hand. Then he let go and calmly tossed it aside.
“Congratulations on growing up, Fujiki Yuusaku.”
And then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
It was that same sly, provocative smile he used to wear as a child when teasing a rival—but now, to Yuusaku, it looked less like a jest and more like a challenge thick with something far more adult.
Something that made Yuusaku’s heart twist, strangely bitter.
“You’re just like me, you—”
Was it the Alpha instinct speaking, or had he simply lost his head?
Yuusaku suddenly closed the distance between them, closing in on the friend who’d been teasing him so casually, so carelessly. He reached for the other’s collar—not just to pull it open, but to tear it wide, as if that gesture alone might dissipate his frustration. And then, without thinking, he yanked off the suppressor collar altogether, as though baring the skin beneath could somehow restore balance.
What was exposed startled him—Beneath the metal ring, the skin had been bruised a deep, inflamed red—no doubt the result of having the collar’s suppression level dialed too high for too long. It looked almost like a wound.
Yuusaku blinked, a surge of sympathy welling in his chest. “Yours looks worse than mine,” he murmured, voice low with a hint of guilt.
Kougami rubbed his shoulder and neck absently, his tone still unfazed.
“Usually, heat affects Omegas more than Alphas. I wish I could say that was just a cliché, a stereotype, but unfortunately, it seems to be scientifically accurate.”
“So you’re not an… A?”
“No.” He gave a crooked smile. “Surprised? I’m that, actually.”
He held up his hand, middle finger and thumb forming a loop—the vulgar hand sign some people used to mock Omegas. For some reason, the self-deprecating curve of his lips struck Yuusaku as particularly cruel.
“Does that change how you see me?”
“No. It just means I’ll be better at helping you if I know more about your situation.”
“…Come here, then.”
It felt, strangely, like stepping back in time.
Yuusaku was suddenly reminded of when they were children—when Kougami used to coax him out to play with those same gentle words. The tone hadn’t changed, and neither had Yuusaku’s response. He stepped forward instinctively, obediently, and Kougami welcomed him into his arms.
Yuusaku rested his head against the other’s chest. Perhaps it was the effect of pheromones, or perhaps something older than that, but the scent—thick with the pheromonal scent that resembles roses—no longer overwhelmed him. Instead, he found it comforting, even tender. He shut his eyes and allowed himself to melt into that smell, and that embrace.
Kougami stroked his hair in slow, soothing motions. It made Yuusaku feel as though they’d never been apart.
“Do you know what a ‘mark’ is?”
Yuusaku’s face remained tucked into the crook of the other’s neck as he gave a small nod, a bit shy about his thoughts.
In the silence that followed, his thoughts drifted to the search results he’d seen online—not that they helped much. If anything, they irritated him. The way people talked about it… It was as if their definition of “shame” had nothing to do with his. They treated emotional honesty like a punchline, reduced vulnerability to a joke.
Why was it so easy for others to leer at someone’s coming-of-age, yet treat the bodily changes and urges that came with it as something shameful? They gossiped so comfortably about sex, but scorned any earnest feeling that couldn’t be tucked into a punchy meme or a dirty joke.
Yuusaku couldn’t understand them. He didn’t want to.
“I like you,” he said at last.
The words came out calm and clear—not frantic, not melodramatic, just… true. “Not just because I’m drawn to you. Not just because I want to do those things with you. But because you matter to me.”
He took a breath, steadied himself. “So I don’t think this is weird. I don’t want to be ashamed of it.”
In this quiet, private moment, it was as though the fever of his first heat and the pull of the other’s scent had worked together to unearth everything he’d kept locked away. The words slipped free without resistance.
“But I also hope,” he added, softer now, “that the reason you want my help… is because you feel the same.”
Kougami didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned his face to the side, exposing the line of his neck—not quite looking at Yuusaku, not quite avoiding him either.
Even so, Yuusaku saw something flicker in his gaze.
“If we weren’t already drawn to each other, none of this would be happening,” he said quietly. “And I’ve had feelings for you. For a long time now.”
…The sofa in the clubroom was a little too small—but in this moment, that cramped space felt almost like a blessing. The constraint gave them an excuse to hold each other tightly, without hesitation. And that was what both of them—body and soul—seemed to yearn for most.
Yuusaku cupped his beloved’s face with both hands, the gesture tender and hesitant. He lingered there for a long time, but couldn’t quite bring himself to cross the line and kiss the other on the lips. The person before him felt too unfamiliar; the answers he’d given were too ambiguous. Yuusaku couldn’t pretend this was something as simple and certain as lovers’ affection.
But then, his eyes were drawn to the elegant line of the other’s neck.
The rose-scent there was so thick it felt almost tangible, like something ripened to the point of dripping. It sent the young Alpha into a daze. The force of instinct was overwhelming—terrifying, even—but the thought that this was the same person who had given him courage so many times as a child grounded him. Gave him something to hold onto. Something human.
“Let’s begin.” he murmured.
When his canine teeth broke the skin, the sensation didn’t confine itself to flesh. It coursed through scent, through taste, through some buried nerve that lived in the marrow of instinct. The sweetness on his tongue, the perfume in his breath, the overwhelming sense of a wish finally, impossibly granted—everything converged into a single, staggering moment. It stole the breath from his lungs.
At first, he tried to soothe the older boy with soft kisses, touches meant to reassure. But that gentleness quickly gave way to something more chaotic—his movements unravelled, like the knots in his own body and thoughts coming undone. He mouthed at the fever-warm skin where scent pooled thickest, the hollow of the neck, tasting bruises as they blossomed and blood as it surfaced. And still, he could not stop.
When he realised he’d hurt him, a pang of regret twisted inside him.
The other had tried to endure it, but a soft, involuntary hiss had escaped his lips. His body was drawn tight—strung like a violin tuned too high—tension radiating not only from pain, but from something deeper. Want, maybe. Or that same tidal pull Yuusaku himself could no longer resist.
But instead of recoiling, Kougami only reached up and laid a hand, calm and steady, against the back of Yuusaku’s head. A gesture not of self-protection, but of comfort—as if it was Yuusaku, not he, who needed to be reassured.
Yuusaku's face flushed, not only from shame but from a rush of heat he couldn’t suppress. Yet there was no time for self-consciousness. He let instinct guide him, nuzzling into the curve of his neck like an animal seeking refuge. With kisses, with small, reverent bites, he tried to soothe the tremor in the body beneath him—and the storm in his own.
He didn’t know if what they felt could be called pleasure in any ordinary sense. It was too layered, too fierce—something richer and stranger than desire alone. It welled up between them like rainwater gathering in a hidden reservoir, slow and inevitable. And soon—so soon—it would overflow. The moment of joining, of dissolving into one another, was drawing near. Perhaps it had always been destined. Perhaps certain things, once set in motion, cannot help but come to pass—just as spring flowers, given time and the mercy not to wither, must, at last, unfold.
When the storm finally passed—when sensation ebbed and the world grew quiet again—Yuusaku remained where he was, pressed to the warmth of the other’s chest, as if by holding on he could stop the moment from slipping away. He stayed like that until cool fingers brushed the edge of his cheek, and only then did he realise there were tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.
Before he could make sense of the look in Kougami’s gaze—part mockery, part something achingly kind—a kiss landed softly against his cheek. Light as breath. It wiped the tears away.
And with that kiss, the sorrow that hadn’t had time to rise—dulled by instinct, buried beneath the flood of fulfilment—returned all at once, sharp and sudden. The sweetness was still there, but now it had a bitter edge.
He couldn’t hold it back.
Before thought could catch up, his heart spoke first.
“…Did I do something terrible when we were children? Is that why there’s always been this distance between us?
I’ve never been good at dealing with people. It’s always made things… awkward. I guess that’s why I relied on you so much. Even after we started drifting apart, I kept thinking—if I could just ask you why, maybe I’d understand. But the one who drifted away… was you.”
The confession seemed to catch Ryoken unprepared. That dazed softness from earlier gave way to something heavier, something harder to meet. Yuusaku couldn’t help pulling him into a quiet embrace. It wasn’t the kind of touch lovers shared—it felt more like the small, desperate gesture of someone trying to keep hold of a friend slipping through their fingers. He couldn’t help wondering, even now: where were these feelings leading them?
“…You misunderstood,” Ryoken said after a pause. “It had nothing to do with you.”
His voice was lower now, steady but faint.
“There were complications at home. I chose not to involve you—not because you didn’t matter, but precisely because you did. I thought it would pass, and I could explain it all later. But the situation affected me more than I had anticipated. I remained silent… for too long. And by the time I realised it, we had already grown into this awkward, uncertain age.”
He lowered his gaze, casting a glance at the bruises scattered across his neck—physical proof of a bond neither of them had meant to form quite like this. A soft, bitter laugh slipped out.
“And now, this. I find myself unsure what path lies ahead.”
Ryoken leaned back against the couch and exhaled, like someone finally giving in to weariness. “To ‘seize a new future together’… was that how you phrased it?”
Yuusaku watched him raise one hand, as if reaching for the pale sunlight outside. The wisteria vines that wound across the windows had grown so thick, their blossoms blocked nearly all the light.
And suddenly, he wondered—had he just failed to notice all along? Maybe it was only because his scent matched the wisteria’s that he’d never realised how overwhelming it could be.
“…You remembered the promise,” he said quietly.
“How could I forget?” Ryoken’s smile was faint, a ghost of something from long ago. “You were so earnest then. It left quite the impression.”
“Maybe I was wrong to want an answer.”
But deep down, Yuusaku already knew what he needed to say.
“Maybe this is enough. Just doing what feels right. Letting instinct guide us, and listening to what our feelings are really trying to say. Like how I want to stay by your side—not because we’ve done something irreversible, or because we’re Alpha and Omega, but because it’s how I feel.
And if, deep down, you don’t want this—if you don’t want us to be bound like this—then it’s okay to walk away.”
He’d imagined saying that so many times. And yet, now that he had, it felt lighter than he’d expected—like some weight had slipped from his shoulders. He had never truly believed their future had to be dictated by “bonded Alpha and Omega” or anything as small as that. It didn’t matter whether Ryoken chose to be his close friend again, or his lover, or simply someone he once knew. Even a stranger—if that brought him peace.
“I said I wanted to reach for the future with you. But if it isn’t a future we both want, then the promise doesn’t mean anything at all.”
There was a trace of melancholy in his words, yes—but his voice rang with quiet resolve. Not the kind born of determination to achieve something, but of a gentler, rarer kind: the resolve to remain true to oneself. Whenever Ryoken saw him like this—this oddly radiant high school boy, lit from within by some private certainty—he couldn’t help but let out a soft, helpless laugh. It was the kind of sound one made in the face of something foolishly, disarmingly sincere.
“You really are… something else,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, unable to resist, he reached out and gave Yuusaku’s cheek a fond squeeze, pressing a swift kiss to his lips.
“That,” Ryoken said, smiling faintly, “is the reply my heart has chosen to give.”
The kiss caught Yuusaku off-guard. His ears flushed pink, his pulse quickened. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask—something, anything—but a gentle finger came to rest against his lips before he could.
Ryoken’s gaze, calm and composed once more, told him all he needed to know. He had reclaimed the reins of the conversation. Just like old times.
“You once promised to seize the future with me,” he said. “In that case… allow me to seize the present for a while. A great deal has happened over the years. Would you be willing to indulge me—listen, while I tell you a little of it?”
“…Of course.”
Yuusaku settled in beside him, his body relaxing without even realising it. He stretched his arms above his head and gave a soft sigh of contentment, ready to listen.
Outside, the wisteria swayed on its trellis, heavy with fragrant bloom. Their mingled scents—spring flowers and a faint trace of pheromone—drifted through the air, warm with golden sunlight. And now, at last, both of them could breathe a little easier.