Chapter Text
In a world full of quirks, the existence of secondary genders had once felt like an outdated biological hiccup—until society figured out how to market it.
Alphas, Betas, Omegas. Words that had once been whispered in biology lectures were now proudly printed on government IDs, entrance forms, and every single UA application. They weren’t just part of someone’s identity, they were a system. A ranking. A warning label. A fantasy. A threat. It depended on who you asked.
Some people said the second gender mattered less than quirks. That quirks were still the great equalizer—until they weren’t. An Omega with a powerful quirk was still an Omega, and they’d be questioned, doubted, protected, objectified, or coddled depending on their scent, their posture, their heat cycle schedule. An Alpha with no quirk might still rise to the top just by standing tall and speaking with a growl.
There were suppressants, blockers, scent training, special uniforms. Laws designed to protect Omegas doubled as invisible chains. Laws meant to restrain Alphas sometimes pushed them into quiet, boiling frustration. Betas? Betas kept the world running, while everyone else was too busy snapping at each other’s throats.
Katsuki Bakugou didn’t care about any of that.
Not really.
He was still unmarked. Still “Undesignated.” Still too young to present. Just a pup, technically. Fourteen years old and mean as hell, but still a mystery to the system.
Everyone expected him to be an Alpha, of course. He acted like one. Talked like one. He’d already beat up three kids in the hall that month alone, and his quirk made the air crackle when he got too annoyed. The teachers looked at him like a ticking time bomb. His mother told him to stop snarling at people. His classmates—except Deku, that damn stalker—kept their distance.
Kariage didn’t, though.
Kariage never had.
Kariage with his lazy smirk anda trail of cigarette smoke clinging to his collar, even when he swore he hadn’t smoked that day. Kariage, who’d been by Katsuki’s side since they were five and decided to see who could piss off the most adults in one afternoon.
They weren’t like other people. They weren’t normal friends. But they weren’t anything else either. Not yet.
Katsuki didn’t think about it too much. He didn’t need to. Kariage was his, in the same way Katsuki’s favorite hoodie was his. Familiar. Warm. A little tattered, but perfect.
And anyway, all that Alpha/Omega crap was for other people.
Wasn’t like he was gonna be one of those moony-eyed Omegas who blushed every time someone looked at them. Wasn’t like he was ever gonna get weak in the knees from some stranger’s scent or need to be protected. Wasn’t like he was—
(Wasn’t like he’d wake up one day and the whole world would shift sideways.)
Not yet.
Not yet.
But soon.
Katsuki wasn’t worried.
Not really.
It was only Tuesday, and Kariage had been gone since last Thursday. That wasn’t even a week. Just a long-ass weekend and two shitty days at school where no one shut the hell up about who was presenting. Apparently it was that time. Pups getting hit all at once. Second gender season or whatever.
Still. Katsuki wasn’t worried.
Except… maybe he was. A little. Enough to be pissed about it.
Because Kariage hadn’t texted. Not a single damn message. No call. No missed FaceTime. Nothing. He’d just vanished, like he didn’t even care Katsuki might wonder what the hell happened.
That part bugged him more than it should’ve.
Katsuki scowled down at his phone again. Blank screen. He opened their chat and stared at the last message.
[kariage]
ur moms hot
[katsuki]
kill yourself
That was from Wednesday night.
He should’ve responded differently. Or not been an idiot. Or… or something. He didn’t know. Katsuki’s stomach twisted, sour and sharp. He hated this. He hated not knowing. He hated how quiet it felt.
And he hated what it could mean.
It wasn’t like Kariage went on a trip or was sick. No. Kariage would tell Katsuki these things.
Kariage was presenting.
That part? That was the real problem.
Because Katsuki wasn’t. Not yet. He was still a pup, still waiting for it to hit. He didn’t like thinking about it. Didn’t like the way everyone got weird when someone presented. It changed things. Everything. People stopped acting normal and started making packs and wearing fucking collars and growling at each other like it was instinct or whatever.
He didn’t want that with Kariage.
Not unless… no. He didn’t want that. Period.
Did he?
“Tch.” Katsuki shoved the thought down and kicked at the gravel on the edge of the school lot. Lunch break. Everyone was outside today, buzzing around like goddamn bees. And of course, people were talking.
“You hear Kudo presented last night?”
“Yeah! Beta, kinda boring.”
“I heard Kariage’s presenting too.”
“Wonder what he’ll be. I’m betting alpha. Have you seen the way he walks—”
“Nah he;s definitely an omega. Come on, we've all seen the way he is with Bakugou right?”
“Shut the hell up,” Katsuki snapped.
The group froze.
He didn’t know their names. Didn’t care.
They stared at him, wide-eyed, like he was a wild animal that just bit through its leash.
Katsuki glared back, lip curled, fists tight. “Say his name again and I’ll break your jaw.”
No one said anything. One of them made a nervous little laugh. The rest drifted away.
Katsuki stayed there, breathing hard. His chest felt tight, like something was caught behind his ribs. Kariage being gone was bad enough. People talking about him like he was someone else now? Like he was going to be an alpha or an omega and not just Kariage?
That was worse.
By the time the last bell rang, Katsuki was tired. Not from school. Not from anything physical. Just tired. In his bones. In his chest.
He trudged out the school gates, not expecting anything except the walk home.
But there he was.
Kariage.
Leaning against the gate like he hadn’t just disappeared for five days straight. Like nothing happened. Katsuki stopped in his tracks. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
Kariage looked up. Smirked.
“Yo.”
“You dickhead,” Katsuki spat.
Kariage grinned. “Miss me, princess?”
Katsuki wanted to punch him. Or maybe hug him. He didn’t do either. He just shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking. Kariage caught up. Fell into step beside him like always. But something was off.
They didn’t talk about it.
Katsuki didn’t ask. Kariage didn’t offer.
But their silence wasn’t total.
“So,” Katsuki said, not looking at him, “you just decided to show up like nothing happened?”
Kariage shrugged, his backpack slung low over one shoulder. “Didn’t feel like talking.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Katsuki muttered.
The wind picked up, brushing through the trees that lined the cracked sidewalk. The cicadas buzzed like static. Kariage kicked a stray pebble down the pavement, hands in his pockets, his shoulder occasionally bumping into Katsuki’s.
“Missed anything fun?” he asked eventually.
Katsuki scoffed. “We had a pop quiz in math. Deku almost threw up during health. Deisha cried over some dumb phobia thing.”
They lapsed into silence again, but it was less heavy now. Less sharp. Katsuki glanced at him from the corner of his eye. The way he moved was different—more grounded, more… sure. He wasn’t towering or puffed up, but there was something in how Kariage held himself now. Like his skin fit better. Like he knew who he was.
And Katsuki hated that he noticed.
“You didn’t miss much,” he muttered.
Kariage snorted. “Still sounds better than being locked in my room for five days.”
Katsuki blinked. “You were locked in?”
“Not literally. Just—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You know. Instincts. Scent blockers. My mom’s a freak about that shit.”
Katsuki grunted. “Bet she cried.”
“Like someone died.”
“She always was dramatic.”
“She gets it from your mom.”
“Hey, fuck you.”
Kariage laughed again, louder this time, and Katsuki finally let himself smile a little.
By the time they got to Katsuki’s house, the sun was dipping behind the rooftops. Their street was quiet—one of those dead-end neighborhoods where everyone knew who lived where, and every front porch looked the same. Their houses were two down from each other, but Kariage didn’t even hesitate.
He followed Katsuki up the walkway like it was routine. It was routine.
Katsuki unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Empty.
Of course.
Shoes off, door kicked closed behind him, Katsuki motioned lazily toward the kitchen. “Grab whatever.”
Kariage already was.
He tossed a bag of chips on the counter, then rummaged around until he found the drinks. Poured himself some soda like he lived there, which, honestly, he kind of did.
Katsuki leaned against the banister, watching him.
They didn’t say anything.
They headed up the stairs, drinks in hand, chips rustling in the bag. Katsuki’s room was the same mess it always was—blankets half off the bed, clothes on the floor, his laptop open and forgotten on the desk.
The window was cracked open, letting in the soft sound of wind through the trees and a distant dog barking. Kariage flopped onto the bed without asking. Katsuki rolled his eyes but joined him, tossing the chips between them and opening up whatever dumb show they were halfway through last week.
They sprawled out on the bed, feet hanging off the side, legs tangled. Kariage had lit a cigarette, passing it between them.
“Bet you missed this,” Kariage said, tossing a chip at his face.
Katsuki batted it away. “You’re the one who ghosted.”
“You love me.”
“Eat glass.”
Kariage laughed, deep and stupid and real.
It felt normal.
Mostly.
Until Kariage turned toward him, eyes a little too serious, and said—
“I should tell you what I am.”
Katsuki froze.
Heart in his throat.
Everything tilted sideways.
And then the screen cut to black.
Katsuki’s heart stopped.
Like—stopped.
His body didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t even twitch. He just stared, waiting for Kariage to laugh or backpedal or shove him and say gotcha, like it was just some dumb joke that only he would find funny.
But the words had already left Kariage’s mouth.
“I’m an alpha.”
Just like that.
No teasing. No grin.
Kariage said it like it meant something—like he understood the weight of it. His voice was low, serious. Like a confession. Like it was something shameful or sacred.
Katsuki’s fists clenched on instinct. He could feel his nails digging half-moons into his palms, sharp pain grounding him so he wouldn’t flinch or say something he’d regret. He wasn’t mad. Not really. Not at Kariage.
It wasn’t Kariage’s fault. He knew that. Kariage didn’t choose to present. He didn’t ask to be an alpha. Hell, knowing him, he probably hated the whole thing as much as Katsuki did.
But none of that changed the twisting feeling in his gut. Like something was cracking open inside of him, something raw and sick and sharp.
It wasn’t jealousy.
It wasn’t fear, either.
It was more like… grief.
Something was ending. Something he hadn’t even realized mattered until just now.
Kariage wasn’t a pup anymore.
And sooner or later, Katsuki wouldn’t be either.
He wanted to ask why now or why you or even why not me, but the words just sat there behind his teeth, bitter and unspoken. He stared down at the floor instead.
Images rushed through his head. Stories he’d read online. Threads on public forums about heats gone wrong, news clips of alphas attacking omegas, documentaries about second gender violence that no one took seriously until someone died.
Alphas are monsters.
Omegas are property.
Betas don’t matter.
He didn’t want to believe that. He didn’t even think it was fair. But when something’s all you ever hear growing up, it gets in your blood. In your bones.
And now Kariage—Kariage—was one of them.
And Katsuki didn’t even know what he was yet.
“Hey.” Kariage’s voice softened, just a little. Like he knew. Like he sensed the way Katsuki’s heartbeat had gone uneven, the way his jaw had locked so tight it hurt. “I don’t feel different. I swear.”
Katsuki didn’t look at him.
Kariage tried again, inching closer like Katsuki was a stray animal that might bolt.
“Come on, Kats. This doesn’t have to change anything.”
And that’s what made it worse. Because Kariage was looking at him the same way he always had. Like nothing about him had shifted or cracked or mutated into something dangerous.
Still the same eyes. Same lazy half-frown. Same voice that only ever sounded serious when he thought Katsuki might actually be upset.
He hadn’t grown 5 feet taller. He wasn’t suddenly made of muscle or testosterone. He still smelled like smoke and salt and cheap hoodie fabric, even if there was something deeper under it now. Something a little heavier. A little more alpha.
Katsuki hated how badly he wanted to trust him.
His fists finally relaxed, just barely.
He didn’t say anything—not at first.
But slowly, hesitantly, like he was admitting something private and shameful, he nodded.
Just once.
Kariage smiled. Not a smirk. Not a laugh. Just this soft, relieved thing that made Katsuki want to shove him in the chest and rest his head on his shoulder at the same time.
Because even if he didn’t want things to change…
They already had.
Katsuki lay on his back, one arm behind his head, glaring half-heartedly at the ceiling. Kariage was sideways, lying across the bed like a cat, chin resting on Katsuki’s stomach.
“So,” Katsuki muttered, poking Kariage in the forehead with his free hand, “what the hell do I even smell like?”
Kariage grinned, eyes still shut. “Finally asking the real questions, huh?”
“Shut up.”
Kariage shifted dramatically, flopping over so he was now lying on his stomach, cheek squished into Katsuki’s ribs. “You wanna hear the truth, or the version that'll make you throw me out the window?”
“Try me.”
“Okay, you smell like a gym sock that got into a fight with a baby bottle.”
Katsuki reached for a pillow and smacked him in the face with it. “Try again, asshole.”
Kariage laughed, muffled by cotton. “Fine, fine. For real? You smell milky. Kinda soft, powdery... pup smell. Most unpresented kids do.”
Katsuki’s brow twitched. “Powdery? That’s not better.”
“It’s not bad,” Kariage said, peeking up at him. “Actually, it’s kinda... calming? Like, you smell like someone I don’t have to be on edge around. Familiar.”
Katsuki turned his head away. “That’s weird.”
“You’re weird,” Kariage shot back.
Katsuki didn’t know what to say to that. He stared at the ceiling again, jaw tight.
Kariage turned his head and looked up at him with a lazy grin. “You smell good, Katsuki.”
Katsuki flushed immediately. "Tch, don't say weird shit like that.”
“But it’s true.”
“I will throw you out this window.”
Kariage yawned dramatically. “Please do. I’d die happy if the last thing I saw was your grumpy, red-eared face.”
Katsuki shoved him again, but it lacked any force.
Kariage just smiled into his hoodie, like Katsuki’s heartbeat wasn’t jackhammering against his cheek.
They didn’t stop talking. About nothing. About everything.
It was the kind of conversation that only existed in bedrooms like Katsuki’s—where the door was shut, the lights were low, and the outside world couldn’t hear a thing.
Kariage was sprawled sideways across Katsuki’s bed, one leg hanging off the edge and the other kicking lazily at the air. His arm flopped dramatically over his eyes like he was about to die of boredom.
“So there I was,” he started, voice thick with fake tension, “sitting in math class, absolutely rawdogging that quiz with no idea what the hell I was doing—”
“You never know what you’re doing,” Katsuki muttered, tossing a chip into his mouth without looking.
“—AND YET, I am the hero of this tale,” Kariage went on, undeterred, flinging his hand off his face to point at the ceiling. “Because in that moment of pure crisis, when Miss Hanako starts walking down the aisle to collect papers, I made the ultimate sacrifice.”
Katsuki leaned back against his headboard, arms crossed, unimpressed. “Lemme guess. You cried.”
“Worse.” Kariage sat up straight, eyes wide, voice dropping into a whisper. “I fake-fainted. Whole desk shake. Pencil roll. One kid screamed.”
“You’re such an idiot,” Katsuki said flatly, but there was a small smirk twitching at his mouth.
Kariage grinned like he’d won. “And it worked! I got sent to the nurse, bought myself an extra day to study, and the sympathy card.”
“You didn’t even use it to study, did you?”
“Nope,” Kariage said proudly, popping a chip into his mouth. “I went home and took a nap.”
Katsuki snorted, biting down on his lip to hide the laugh. “You’re such a waste of space.”
“I’m your favorite waste of space, though.”
Katsuki whipped a pillow at him, but Kariage just ducked and laughed.
They settled into something quieter after that, watching the laptop screen glow in the corner, playing something neither of them was really paying attention to. Kariage stretched until his hoodie rode up a little, then rolled over onto his stomach, propping his chin on his arms.
“Alright, real question,” he said, eyes narrowed. “Endevour versus Crimson Riot. Who wins?”
Katsuki didn’t even hesitate. “Endeavor.”
“Wrong.”
Katsuki scoffed. “Are you serious? Endeavors literally built to blow up everything. Crimson Riot gets one good punch in and then what?”
“He has better stamina,” Kariage countered, gesturing with his hand like he was laying out a masterful strategy. “Endevour burns through energy like snap—” He snapped his fingers. “Crimson’s a tank.”
“He’s also seventy and retired.”
“This is prime years Crimson! Don’t cheat!”
“You didn’t say that.”
“Implied!”
They went back and forth like that, voices overlapping and animated, until the argument devolved into who had the better merch and who would survive longer in a zombie apocalypse.
Eventually, Kariage flopped back onto his back again with a groan. “Okay, okay. I got one more.”
Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Kariage turned his head just enough to meet his eyes. “How many hot dogs you think Deisha could eat before barfing?”
Katsuki barked out a laugh. “God. At least ten. He’s got that big guy energy.”
“Nah, see, I think he’s all bark. I give him, like, seven.”
“He eats four before second period lunch every day.”
“Yeah, and you ever see him eat the buns? Dude’s a fraud.”
Katsuki grinned. “Fine. Eight and a half. That’s my final offer.”
They shook on it like it was a business deal, barely holding in their laughter. Katsuki didn’t say it out loud, but he loved this. The ease. The stupid jokes. Kariage taking up space in his room like he belonged there.
Because, maybe… he kind of did.
It felt easy. Familiar.
And then Kariage scratched at his neck and sat up a little, shirt riding up on his stomach.
“Hey, uh…” he started, voice casual but not really. “Mind if I take off my scent patches? They’re getting itchy as hell.”
Katsuki blinked at him. “Huh?”
“I forgot I even had ‘em on ‘til now,” Kariage muttered, fingers already hooking under the patch behind his ear. “Been wearing ‘em all day. And, like, they’re not mandatory or anything unless you’re in a heat or something, but I didn’t wanna—y’know—make anyone uncomfortable at school.”
Katsuki shrugged without really thinking. “Yeah, whatever. Do what you want.”
He didn’t think about it. He didn’t even feel anything at first.
Until Kariage peeled off the little beige patches from behind his ears and tossed them on Katsuki’s desk.
Kariage smelled… smoky. Not like a campfire or a fireplace, not warm and crackly like that. No, this was sharper. Deeper. Like burnt wood and scorched air. Not the stench of something destroyed, but the echo of it. The memory of heat.
It wasn’t bad. Not even close.
Katsuki’s mouth felt dry.
“...Dude,” he muttered, trying not to make a face. “You smell like—like an abandoned barbecue.”
Kariage barked a laugh and flopped back onto the bed. “Thanks. I was hoping for ‘sexy forest fire’ but I’ll take it.”
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“You blushed.”
“No I didn’t.”
“You so did.”
Katsuki groaned and smacked a pillow into his own face. “Shut up. It’s just… weird, okay?”
Kariage didn’t argue. He just folded his arms under his head and looked at the ceiling, eyes thoughtful in that rare way he got when he let his jokes quiet down.
“I don’t really get it either,” he said, voice softer now. “Like, I thought being an alpha would feel huge. I thought I’d wake up angry or stronger or something. But it’s just a shit ton of more instincts. A weird pressure in my chest. And stuff smells different.”
Katsuki peeked over at him, surprised at the honesty.
“Does it suck?”
Kariage shrugged. “It’s… itchy. And kind of annoying. But it’s not scary. Not like I thought it’d be.”
Katsuki hesitated. “You don’t feel… different? Like you wanna start bossing people around or something?”
Kariage turned his head to grin at him. “I barely wanted to get off the bed today. What part of me screams alpha overlord to you?”
“Literally nothing,” Katsuki muttered, but his shoulders relaxed.
Kariage’s scent lingered in the air. Katsuki swore it got heavier near his pillow, like it wanted to cling to the fabric.
He didn’t hate it.
He kinda… didn’t want it to go away.
And that was a whole other problem he was definitely not gonna think about right now.
Then, before he could say anything else, he felt his stomach pinch together. Katsuki felt it hit sharp and sudden, like a punch straight to his gut.
He whimpered.
It wasn't loud, just a low breath and a twitch of his fingers against the bedsheets. But Kariage heard it anyway. Of course he did. He froze mid-sentence, eyes narrowing like a hawk’s.
“What was that?”
Katsuki didn’t answer, still hunched slightly, one arm subconsciously curling around his middle.
Kariage sat up, his dramatic persona melting into something quieter, more observant. His head tilted. “Oi. You just made a sound Don’t lie to me. I heard you.”
“I didn’t,” Katsuki muttered, too defensive too fast. “Back off.”
But Kariage was already leaning closer, nostrils flaring. His entire body went still for half a second. Then—
“How long?”
Katsuki didn’t answer.
“…Katsuki.”
He looked up—and Kariage’s eyes were the serious kind. Not his usual teasing glint, not the dramatic fake-cry face. Just Kariage. Real. Steady.
“Four days,” Katsuki admitted finally, through gritted teeth. “It’s not a big deal. I’m not some weak-ass brat who whines about his stomach hurting.”
He had been experiencing a stomach ache for a few days now but the pain was never as severe as this.
Kariage didn’t argue. He didn’t roll his eyes or joke. He just reached out—slowly, like Katsuki was a cornered animal.
Katsuki huffed but didn’t push him away. His body betrayed him by relaxing under the touch. Maybe it was the way Kariage’s thumbs circled slowly, like he knew what he was doing.
The pain ebbed, dulled by touch and heat. It didn’t vanish entirely, but it stopped gnawing.
Kariage didn’t move his hands. Just shifted closer until their knees brushed and the blanket was pulled halfway over both of them. His eyes flicked to Katsuki’s face, unreadable.
"Idiot,” Katsuki muttered under his breath.
Kariage smiled, slow and lazy. “Took you long enough to say it.”
“Shut up.”
They laid there like that—tangled limbs, a lazy hand still splayed over Katsuki’s stomach, the laptop long forgotten. Kariage’s scent coated the air. Katsuki pretended it didn’t make his heartbeat stumble every so often.
Neither of them moved to get up.
Katsuki let his head fall against Kariage’s shoulder, just barely.
And Kariage? He didn’t say a word. Just leaned into it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
.
Katsuki woke slowly, not to the shrill alarm on his nightstand or the sound of his mom stomping down the hall, but to heat—thick and steady against his back—and scent.
It was the first thing he registered, even before the ache in his shoulder from sleeping on it funny.
And it should’ve freaked him out. Or grossed him out. Or set off that wired, teeth-bared instinct to shove and curse and demand space like it used to when they were kids. When Katsuki couldn’t handle so much as a hand on his shoulder without flinching like it burned. When the only physical contact he’d tolerated was the occasional punch, and even that had rules.
But Kariage was different.
Kariage had always been different.
Somehow, back when Katsuki was still the feral little bastard who bit other kids for breathing too close, Kariage had made it past the line. He didn’t ask permission. Didn’t wait for an invite. He just showed up—sitting too close, leaning into his space, brushing pinky fingers and cracking stupid jokes with too much eye contact—and somehow Katsuki hadn’t kicked him out.
He should’ve. He really should’ve.
But instead, he’d made room.
And now, with Kariage asleep beside him—arms snug around Katsuki’s waist, one leg tangled between his, forehead tucked against the back of his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world— Katsuki didn’t move to untangle. He didn’t even pretend to be annoyed. He just sank into it.
The blankets were warm. The sheets smelled like Kariage. Their limbs were a mess of sleepy, accidental knots.
It was disgusting. Intimate. Too much.
And perfect.
Katsuki let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, slow and soft through his nose, and pressed himself back into the heat behind him. He felt Kariage shift—barely—with the lazy instinct of someone deep in REM sleep, and Katsuki froze for half a second. But Kariage didn’t wake. Just adjusted his grip like Katsuki was a stuffed animal that tried to wriggle away in the middle of the night.
Katsuki let himself melt, just for a second. Let his fingers curl in the hem of Kariage’s shirt, felt the soft cotton, the stupid faint scent of whatever detergent Kariage’s family used-and somewhere under all of that, the primal, grounding scent of alpha, all smug and sleepy and safe.
And now he was here, breathing easy, holding him like it was normal.
Like it’d always been this way.
Katsuki’s cheeks flushed hot, and he buried his face deeper into the pillow, like he could hide the fact that his pulse was climbing—like Kariage would even notice. The idiot probably drooled in his sleep.
Still.
He didn’t pull away.
Didn’t even want to.
Eventually, reality started to creep back in.
The golden light leaking through the window. The faint sound of someone mowing three houses down. The sharp buzz of Katsuki’s phone alarm vibrating somewhere on the floor where he’d chucked it last night. And the worst part—the gnawing little voice in the back of his head reminding him they had school.
He tried to ignore it. Burrowed deeper under the covers. Focused on the slow, warm rise and fall of Kariage’s chest against his back.
But Katsuki Bakugou was nothing if not responsible. (Painfully. Reluctantly.)
And they were already pushing it.
With a sigh like it physically hurt to leave, he braced one hand against the mattress and shifted his hips to try and wiggle free. Kariage’s grip loosened slightly—just enough to give Katsuki a false sense of progress—before tightening again with all the sleepy, possessive strength of an unconscious alpha.
“What the—” Katsuki started, and then yelped as he was yanked backwards like a ragdoll.
His back hit Kariage’s chest again, a thick arm slung around his middle, dragging him down with all the grace of a sleepy bear. Kariage let out a low, rumbling growl against his shoulder, more vibration than sound, lazy and half-asleep but unmistakably territorial.
“Oi!” Katsuki hissed, flailing. “What the hell—?!”
Another sleepy growl.
“Stay,” Kariage slurred into the crook of his neck, his voice all gravel and heat, muffled by skin and blanket. He sounded delighted. Smug. Barely awake. His nose bumped against Katsuki’s collarbone as he curled closer like he was trying to crawl inside his ribs.
Katsuki spluttered, kicking wildly under the blanket.
“No, screw that—get up—” He reached for the pillow beside him and brought it down with a whump over Kariage’s head. “We’re gonna be late, you absolute slug—!”
Kariage groaned, buried his face deeper into the pillow like he wasn’t the one being smacked with it, and muttered something about “five more minutes” and “you’re warm” and “my spine’s broken, can’t move.”
Katsuki hit him again. And again. It was barely effective—the pillow was too soft and Kariage was too solid, too smug, too used to being obnoxiously comfortable wrapped around him like this—but he kept going until the alpha finally made a strangled noise of protest and rolled off with a dramatic grunt, limbs flopping in all directions like his body had given out mid-theater performance.
“God,” Katsuki muttered, shoving the pillow back into its place, hair sticking up in every direction. “You’re worse than a heat pack with arms.”
Kariage, half-draped across the edge of the bed now, gave him a lopsided smile with one eye open. “You love me.”
Katsuki threw a sock at his face.
The morning moved in a blur after that.
Katsuki pulled himself out of bed first, mostly to avoid being dragged back into Kariage’s death-hold. His limbs felt heavy, like his body hadn’t caught up with his brain yet, but he forced himself into motion anyway, tugging open drawers and tossing clean clothes onto the bed.
Kariage groaned and flopped back over, watching him with one eye open, sheets tangled around his waist like a lazy toga.
They got ready in the same room like they always did. It was nothing new—Kariage had practically lived here since elementary school, back when Katsuki’s place became the only one that didn’t send him home at night—and changing around each other had been normal for years.
But something about it wasn’t normal anymore.
They hadn’t showered—not enough time, and Katsuki didn’t exactly want to face the morning chaos downstairs. So Kariage pulled off his sleep shirt and stood there, shirtless, yawning like he had no idea what he was doing to Katsuki’s central nervous system.
It wasn’t dramatic. He hadn’t grown ten feet taller or suddenly gotten shredded. Just a couple inches, maybe. Slightly broader shoulders. Voice dropped low and scratchy with sleep.
But it was more than that.
There was something different. The way he moved. The weight he carried. The casual stretch of his arms behind his head like he knew he took up space now and didn’t apologize for it.
He still had the same weirdly smooth skin, the same scar on his side from falling off a fence in fourth grade, the same faded stretch of purple marker on his ribs where Katsuki had once written “loser” in all caps as revenge. But now it all sat on him like he’d grown into his alpha title without even trying.
And Katsuki—stupid, hormonal—was staring.
Hard.
He didn’t even realize it until Kariage smirked, slow and lazy, and tilted his head just enough to look at him sideways.
“See something you like?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. His voice came out lower than usual—part teasing, part sleepy growl—and it did things to Katsuki’s insides that he did not want to unpack right now.
Katsuki’s entire face went up in flames.
“No,” he snapped, looking away so fast he practically gave himself whiplash. “You just look—stupid. You always look stupid. Your hair’s all—” He made a vague hand gesture. “Sticking up.”
“Sure, sure.” Kariage grinned, pulling a shirt over his head. “That why your eyeballs were practically licking me?”
“Shut the hell up,” Katsuki hissed, shoving his arm. “Get dressed. I’m not getting detention because your ego needed ten more seconds of attention.”
“Ten seconds? That’s all it takes for you?” Kariage waggled his brows and immediately got a rolled-up sock thrown at his face. Again
And just like that, the mood cracked open—something warm and stupid leaking out between them like it always did, and Katsuki could finally breathe again.
But then the sound hit.
Not from inside the room—from downstairs.
Raised voices. Not just sharp, but vicious. His mom, yelling about bills or jobs or something that didn’t matter, and his dad shouting back, the two of them overlapping, snapping, the sound of a slammed cabinet door echoing up the stairs like a shotgun blast.
It was nothing new. It was background noise in this house.
Katsuki froze halfway through tying his shoes. He stared at the wall, jaw locked, throat thick.
Kariage’s smile slipped off his face.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
Katsuki didn’t look at him.
Kariage stood up, crossed the room in three slow steps, and pulled the curtain back from the bedroom window.
“C’mon,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “We’ll go the usual way.”
Katsuki blinked at him. “The—oh.”
The window.
The old escape route. Used for everything from late-night snack runs to avoiding parent-teacher conferences. The ledge under the sill still had the scuffed marks from the first time Kariage had tried to climb it and nearly shattered both ankles.
Without waiting for a reply, Kariage pushed the screen open and stepped out like muscle memory, his backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.
Katsuki hesitated only a second longer—just long enough for another crash to sound downstairs, maybe a plate hitting tile—before he followed.
The morning air hit him cold, sharper than he expected. Dew clung to the rooftop and the tree branches, and Kariage was already crouched below on the grass, waiting, hands in his pockets like he had all the time in the world.
“Need me to catch you, princess?” he called up.
Katsuki rolled his eyes and dropped down, landing in a crouch with a grunt, barely missing Kariage’s shoulder.
“Shut up,” he muttered, brushing grass off his pants.
Kariage grinned.
But when he fell into step beside him, walking toward the sidewalk like it was just another Tuesday, he didn’t say anything else. No jokes about the yelling. No comments about the window. He just bumped their shoulders together, barely a touch, and let Katsuki lead.
And somehow, that meant more than anything he could have said.
The walk to school was quiet at first.
Katsuki kicked the same pebble down the sidewalk, hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie, watching his breath fog up in the morning air. Kariage walked beside him, a little slouched, still not fully awake, humming something under his breath that sounded like the theme song to some dumb anime they both stayed up to watch a few weeks ago.
It was peaceful. The kind of peaceful that sat in Katsuki’s chest a little too heavy.
He chewed the inside of his cheek.
It wasn’t like him to ask questions. Especially not ones like this. But the curiosity had been gnawing at him since Kariage presented.
Katsuki cleared his throat.
“Hey,” he said, finally. “What was it like? Your rut.”
Kariage blinked at him. “...My what?”
“Your rut, dumbass. You presented a week ago and I wasn’t there. What happened?”
Kariage snorted. “You make it sound like I gave birth.”
Katsuki shoved him. “Shut up. I’m serious.”
“It was… weird,” Kariage admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “Not like… I dunno. Not like porn made it seem.”
Katsuki snorted. “You watch porn?”
“I did, until rut hit and it made me wanna throw my phone in the garbage.”
“What, you didn’t get, like, all feral and horny and shit?” Katsuki teased, eyebrow raised. “No uncontrollable need to breed the next warm body you saw?”
Kariage rolled his eyes. “Jesus, no. What kind of animal do you think I am?”
“You literally growled at me this morning.”
“That was affection!” Kariage protested. “Like, primal cuddly affection. You know, like when dogs sleep on your face to show they love you.”
Katsuki laughed—loud and sharp—before quickly trying to hide it behind a cough. “You’re an idiot.”
“I am,” Kariage agreed, nodding solemnly. “But yeah. I didn’t feel like I wanted to breed anything. I just… I dunno. I wanted to nest. Not like an Omega, not like building a pillow fort—just this weird, sick urge to be in my room with all my stuff and protect something. Like, stay curled up around a mate or somethin’. And if someone tried to come near me, I wanted to bite their face off.”
“That’s so fucking gross.”
“I said I didn’t want to breed—”
“No, you saying ‘breed’ is gross.”
Kariage grinned. “You’re just mad I’m the alpha.”
“I’m mad you’re still chewing gum like you think it makes you cool.”
“Huh.” Katsuki looked thoughtful. “So… like. No boners?”
Kariage barked out a laugh. “None worth bragging about. My scent glands hurt so bad I couldn’t even think about getting turned on. And my whole body was a mess. Like, the pain was… constant. The back of my neck? Under my jaw? Burning. I couldn’t even wear a hoodie for two days.”
Katsuki wrinkled his nose. “Gross.”
“Extremely,” Kariage said. “Also, mood swings like you wouldn’t believe. I cried because my pen ran out of ink. Then I punched a hole in my door. Then I cried because I broke the door. My dad just left a plate of rice on the floor outside my room like I was a rabid dog.”
“God, you’re pathetic,” Katsuki said, grinning. “You destroyed your room because of a rut?”
“I blacked out and woke up on top of a mountain of torn-up shirts and shattered lamps. It was insane.”
“And you didn’t even get off?”
“No! I’m fourteen My body’s still figuring stuff out. Like—like I felt the instinct, right? But it wasn’t sexual. It was just overwhelming. Like this giant wave of ‘do this or die’ and my body didn’t even know what to do with it.”
Katsuki nodded slowly, taking it in with a weird fluttery feeling in his chest. “Did it… change you? Like, your body?”
“Yeah,” Kariage said. “A bit. Got taller. My scent glands feel more sensitive now.
They walked the rest of the block in silence, the school slowly coming into view over the tops of the trees. Katsuki didn’t say anything, but his head was spinning—full of glands and instincts—and somewhere deep down, a part of him wondered what his own presentation was going to look like.
He wasn’t scared.
Okay, maybe he was a little.
But if it meant Kariage would still be there—still walking beside him, still teasing him, still catching him when the world felt too loud—then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Class was exactly what Katsuki expected: boring, loud in all the wrong ways, and crawling with too many eyes that suddenly wanted to be part of Kariage’s pack.
Kariage, of course, was rolling with it, like he always did—a cocky grin, an easy shrug, scent blockers clipped discreetly to his collar like tiny badges of defiance. But even with the blockers, everyone could tell.
That scent, sharp and sweet and heavy with something new, still seeped out in waves.
And suddenly, the whole school wanted in.
Not that Kariage cared.
Katsuki, Kariage, Deisha, and—painfully—Deku had formed what they called a proto-pack. The word sounded harmless, like some kind of playground club.
But to them?
It was everything.
Proto-packs weren’t bound by biology
But they still mattered.
Like childhood promises whispered under blanket forts and sealed with handshakes that lasted longer than any adult thought possible.
Like friendship bracelets that didn’t come off even when they were faded and scratchy, the knots too tight to undo without pulling hard enough to break skin.
It wasn’t about instincts.
It was about trust.
Some pups made proto-packs for fun.
They broke apart like bubblegum, sticky and sweet at first but gone in a flash.
But theirs?
Theirs had lasted years.
They never really called it a “proto-pack” out loud.
It was just a thing.
An unspoken I-got-you settled deep in their bones somewhere between scraped knees and shared rice crackers, between Kariage throwing a punch at the kid who called Katsuki “weird” and Katsuki stealing crayons to replace the ones Kariage lost.
Between holding hands during horror movies and pretending they weren’t scared.
Yeah, maybe they didn’t scent each other the way real packs did.
But they knew.
Katsuki smelled like burnt caramel and something sharp and warm, like metal pressed under heat.
Kariage smelled like smoke and old wood and trouble—not a scent that filled a room, but one that clung to sweaters and pillowcases and made Katsuki’s chest tighten in ways he couldn’t explain.
So when Kariage presented—when everything was supposed to change —
Katsuki clung to the one thing that still made sense:
They were still a pack.
Proto or not.
And Kariage wasn’t going anywhere.
Packs were supposed to be about love.
That’s what they were told, anyway—that true packs, even proto-packs, only formed between people who trusted each other. Who cared. Who’d built a bond strong enough to last past presenting and scent shifts and hormones. Packs were supposed to be family. Soul-deep. Real.
But now?
Now everyone wanted to be in Kariage’s.
People who didn’t even know him. Kids who used to whisper about how dumb he was in math class were suddenly bringing him snacks and batting their lashes. Strangers hovered by his desk, complimented his scent, made clumsy little jokes about how their own glands were “definitely starting to tingle too.”
It was pathetic.
Worse, it was dangerous.
Kariage had presented—barely fourteen—and the second it happened, something shifted in the air. The teachers didn’t treat him the same. Adults looked at him like he was too old now, like being an alpha meant he was supposed to act like a grown man even if he still laughed at fart jokes and slept with one sock on.
Most pups presented between late fourteen to early fifteen. That was the average.
Which meant people stopped seeing him, and started seeing the role he could fill.
It felt like every other day someone else showed up to school smelling a little different—maybe not presented, not officially, but close enough to start getting weird. Preheat. Pre-rut. Scent glands flaring early like warning lights. Hormones buzzing just under the surface.
It made Katsuki feel like he was running out of time. Like everyone was sprinting toward the finish line and he didn’t even know where the track was.
But more than that—more than the frustration or the jealousy—was the fear.
Because he remembered what happened to that girl last year.
She’d been two years older. Pretty. Quiet. She presented as an omega over winter break, and when she came back, everything was different. People started saying things. Not to her face, not always, but loud enough that she could hear.
“Bet she’s gonna go into heat in class.”
“Someone should knock her up before she gets rabid.”
“She’s probably already scenting someone’s locker.”
Katsuki hadn’t known her name. He never talked to her. But he saw as the bullying got worse and worse. He remembered when she stopped coming to school…
The teachers didn’t say much. Just that she “passed.” As if they meant a test, not her own life.
She’d been bullied into the ground until she disappeared.
And it scared the shit out of him.
Because for a long time—longer than he’d admit out loud—Katsuki thought Kariage might be an omega too.
Kariage was always touching him. Always wrapping himself around Katsuki like a blanket. He loved cuddling. Shared food without asking. Got weepy at movies and angry when Katsuki skipped meals. He was all comfort and warmth and soft strength in the way Katsuki had always been told omegas were supposed to be.
Katsuki had been bracing for it. Terrified for him. Ready to punch the first person who even looked at him wrong.
But Kariage presented alpha.
And yeah, alphas weren’t exactly treated well either. People expected them to be leaders, protectors, self-sacrificing and composed and powerful all at once. But at least they weren’t seen as weak. At least people didn’t whisper about their heat cycles or make comments about their legs or what would happen if they went feral in the hallway.
Katsuki hated himself a little for thinking it—but still. Kariage was lucky.
He was lucky.
Because now no one could say Kariage was vulnerable. Now they’d think twice before pushing him too far. And that meant Katsuki didn’t have to walk around every second with his fists clenched and his heart in his throat.
Still, he didn’t trust those other kids.
They didn’t know Kariage. Not like he did.
They saw alpha. They didn’t see him.
So Katsuki kept close. Close enough to elbow someone if they got too flirty. Close enough to be the line between Kariage and the rest of the world if he needed to be.
Because they were still a pack.
Even if no one else could see it.
Even if the whole world was starting to change.
They made it to class with two minutes to spare. Katsuki barely got his ass in the seat before Deisha spun around in his chair, arms flopped dramatically over the backrest like a bored cat, and raised both brows at them.
“Well, well, well,” he drawled. “Look who decided to show up late after a night of—”
Kariage yanked his backpack strap hard enough to choke him.
“Ow, dick—!”
Deisha wheezed, swatted his hand away, and turned to squint at him properly. “Wait. Hold on.” He leaned in close, nose twitching like a dog sniffing out bacon. “You smell different.”
Kariage just smirked. “Yeah. That’s kinda the point.”
Deku’s eyes went huge. “Wait, wait—did you—?!”
"Presented last week,” Kariage confirmed, hands in his pantspocket like he wasn’t making a major life announcement. “Alpha. Scent blockers are on, so don’t freak out.”
“I knew it,” Deku whispered, clutching his notebook like it was a holy artifact. “I said it in my journal! I wrote it down like, months ago! I had a theory—”
“Oh my god,” Katsuki groaned, slamming his forehead against the desk. “Here we go.”
Deisha snorted. “Alpha, huh?” He squinted again. “Weird. I always pegged you as an omega.”
Kariage’s eye twitched.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he said, a little too casually.
“I dunno,” Deisha said with a shrug. “You’re, like… clingy. And emotional. And you cry at animated commercials. Thought that was some omega shit.”
Kariage’s smile dropped off his face like a rock.
“Say that again.”
Deisha blinked. “I said—”
And then there was a thud.
Chairs scraped. A table nearly flipped. Kariage launched himself across the aisle with the speed and fury of a sleep-deprived hyena and tackled Deisha to the floor. Fists flew. Screaming erupted. Deku shrieked and tried to crawl under his desk with his binder.
“NOT IN CLASS AGAIN—” their teacher yelled from across the room, but it was already too late.
Deisha was on his back, laughing and kicking while Kariage tried to strangle him with one arm. Kariage’s scent blockers had gone askew in the scuffle, and now the classroom reeked of alpha aggression and sweat and half-evolved testosterone.
Deku was crying.
Katsuki?
Katsuki was laughing his ass off.
Like full-body, can’t-breathe, tears-in-his-eyes laughing. His stomach hurt from it. His chest ached. It was the most cathartic thing he’d felt all week.
Someone’s pencil case got kicked. Deisha accidentally punched a chair. Kariage threatened to bite his ear off. The class erupted in chaos while the teacher wrestled them apart with the look of a man begging for retirement.
And Katsuki, still snickering behind his hand, leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“God,” he muttered, voice fond and full of fire.